An Eye For An Eye
by Doc Reid
Summary: After a former colleague is released from ten years in prison, he seeks revenge on the man who put him there – Inspector Thomas Brackenreid.
1. Chapter 1

Finally, after such a long, harsh winter, the sun was beginning to show its strength and the days were finally warmer and brighter. Toronto was a city of brick and concrete buildings with factories that belched out thick black smoke, which was hardly uplifting during the dull cold winter months.

Thomas Brackenreid adjusted his cravat grey and black striped and black waistcoat while standing looking into the mirror over the bureau. With a final adjustment to the cravat, he the master bedroom and leisurely made his way down the stairs to the kitchen only to find his wife, Margaret, fussing with their two growing boys, John and Robbie. "What's going on here?" he asked as if there seemed to be some confusion. Here was a hit of amusement in the Inspector's tone.

"I'm trying to get the boys to take a lunch," Margaret huffed.

"Why? They come home for lunch. The school's only a few blocks away," Thomas said as he poured himself a coffee.

"I have a meeting over the lunch hour and I won't be home to make it for them," his wife curtly answered.

Thomas rolled his eyes, "Oh, one of those," he smirked as he took a sip from the hot brew.

"I saw that look," Margaret scolded her husband. "You'll thank me one day," she added.

"I thank you everyday, my dear," Brackenreid smiled as he set his mug down on the table at the centre of the room, "You lads pay heed to your mother," he pointed at the two young men. "And you my dear, have a wonderful meeting," he smiled and pulled Margaret to him, and gave her a a quick peck to the cheek. Margaret flushed slightly. "Be safe, Thomas," she said after her husband left the kitchen to gather his black bowler hat, coat and walking stick , which were on the coat rack at the front door.

For Brackenreid, it was only a ten minute walk to Station House 4 and with the warmer weather now on its way, it was all the nicer for such a stroll. With a smile on his face, he stroll out to the sidewalk and began his short trek to work. As usual, the Inspector tipped his hat to the ladies along the boulevard if they were out in their yard, or gathering their mail. He enjoyed this neighbourhood and rich life, and found himself smirking at his boys, "They will be good lads, indeed," he muttered to himself as he continued his walk.

The Inspector turned the corner into the busier part of town and wandered along the street on his way to work. Out of an alley, one of the seedier men in the neighbourhood popped out in front of the Inspector and deliberately walked into him, grasping him by the shoulders before he purposely burped into Brackenreid's face. "You dirty bugger you," the Inspector shoved him aside, quickly pulling his handkerchief from his trouser pocket to wipe away the slight moistness that was left behind. "Have a bath and get the hell out of my district, you filthy slob. And not necessarily in that order," Thomas bellowed at the man, garnering attention from other people on the busy morning street. The vagrant scrambled from sight like a sewer rat in the light. Brackenreid huffed, straighten his coat and continued on his way. His smile was quickly replaced by a scowl on.

It seemed to be a lively day, already at the station house. One might have wondered what phase the moon was in, if they believed in that rubbish, Brackenreid thought as he wove his way to his office – an oasis in the middle of madness. The Inspector exhaled and quickly plucked his hat off, placing it on a peg of the coat rack, followed by is suit coat and cane.

The inspector strolled to his desk and looked out through the window at the usual crown, "What the devil is going on?" he wondered aloud.

"We wondered the same thing, Sir," Constable George Crabtree commented as he set a tea cup down on the Inspector's desk.

Brackenreid looked over his shoulder, "Thanks for the tea, Crabtree. Now, please find out what the hell is going on out there," he motioned with his right hand to the crowd in the other room. That's when he noticed a small spot of blood on the upper part of his arm, "That dirty bugger stabbed me with something!"

Detective William Murdoch was just heading to his own office, which was adjacent to the Inspector's office when he noticed this boss examining his shirt sleeve. Thinking it was an odd thing to be doing that early in the morning, Murdoch poked his head through the open door, "Sir?"

Brackenreid quickly looked up, almost as if he was in shock. Murdoch moved slowly into the room. "That dirty bugger stabbed me," he said resuming his examination of the small hole in his now bloodied sleeve.

"Stabbed? Who? When?" Murdoch asked as he watched his boss with great interest.

"One of those trolls from the alley. The same one from a couple of weeks ago. That O'Farrell creep," the Inspector grumbled.

William looked quickly at the wound and noticed that the blood was flowing; soaking the upper sleeve red. "Maybe you should have Julia look at that," Murdoch suggested.

"It doesn't hurt. Well, not that much," Brackenreid stated as he moved his right arm around to prove his point. It felt more and more irritated as he did so.

"I still think it would be prudent for Julia to look at it, Sir. It's bleeding quite a bit," William almost insisted.

Brackenreid frowned at the thought, "I suppose you're right," he said as he clamped his left hand over the small wound, which was now throbbing.

"I'll walk with you," William flashed a quick smile knowing full well that his boss was not impressed how his day had begun. "Be safe she said," Brackenreid huffed as he walked to the office door. William was about to ask what the comment was about but he chose not to at the last second. The two men made their way through the busy lobby of the station and across the street to the city morgue.

Julia was at her desk, working on a report for the latest autopsy she had preformed for the hospital. She heard the door opened and she looked up, "Good morning, William. Inspector," she smiled.

"Bloody hell it is," Brackenreid grumbled as he rubbed his shoulder.

Julia made a face, "Oh dear. What's wrong?" she asked as she stood up to face the two men.

"It seems that the Inspector was attacked on his way to work," William pointed out.

"Hardly attacked," Brackenreid snorted at the young detective's comment.

"Sir, if a man got close enough to stab you, then you were attacked," Murdoch pointed out. The detective's brown eyes were locked onto Brackenreid's light blue eyes – there was hurt in them.

"Stabbed!?" Julia sputtered in surprise.

"Yeah," Brackenreid sighed as he pulled his left hand from his right shoulder. They were both now covered in rich red blood.

"Oh my!" Julia stated as she motioned for the Inspector to take a seat at her desk. Reluctantly, the Inspector moved to the chair and sat down, scowling at Murdoch the whole time. William merely shrugged as he watched Julia do a superficial examination of the wounded area. After a few minutes, and all eyes on Julia's hands, she stepped back. "I need to see your arm," she spoke tenderly to Brackenreid.

"You want me to take my shirt off?" the Inspector cast a doubtful glace to his colleague. Murdoch's left eyebrow lifted and he shrugged slightly. Brackenreid's eyebrows knit together; clearly he was irked by the whole situation. Gruffly he pulled off his cravat and waistcoat before he unbuttoned his shirt. Both Julia and William could tell he was now favouring his right shoulder. The Inspector peeled off his shirt, just enough for Julia to take a better look at his shoulder.

The doctor wiped the wound with disinfectant, causing Brackenreid to flinch with every dob. "Sorry," Julia smirked. "The next part is going to hurt worse, I'm afraid," she warned as he wanted to clean inside the wound.

"Just get on with it. I have things to do," Brackenreid grumbled and shot another look over to Murdoch.

Julia proceeded to thoroughly cleanse the wound which only took a few seconds, but to Brackenreid it was much longer – the pain intensified. "We'll have to monitor this for a while. It's a clean wound, but I don't know what your assailant used," she said as she wrapped a clean cloth bandage around the Inspector's upper arm. All he could think of was the inconvenience of it all.

Julia finished with the bandage and went to the sink to wash her hands, "Changed the dressing later today, and let me know if you notice any change in colour around the opening immediately," she said glancing back over her shoulder. Brackenreid had already pulled his shirt back up and his waistcoat on,"Thanks for your attention, Doctor," he said as he looked down at the bloodied sleeve and his hand.

"You can wash up here," the doctor offered as she stepped away from the sink, drying her hands with a cloth. Thomas made a face and at least he could wash the blood from his hands, the shirt was another matter. Without a word the Inspector walked to the sink and gave his hands a quick wash and dried them off.

"Thanks again, Doctor," the Inspector nodded as he left the autopsy room. Murdoch followed his boss without saying a word. Before they left the morgue, Brackenreid looked down at his sleeve, "I can't work looking like this. I need a new shirt," he sighed.

"I can pick one up for you, Sir," William offered.

"Thanks, Murdoch," the English smiled. The two walked back to the station, "I want you to find that vagrant bum, O'Farrell and bring him in," Brackenreid added.

"Yes Sir," Murdoch said as he watched Brackenreid enter the station. He on the other hand was in search of a new shirt for his boss, before he could get his men to round up O'Farrell.


	2. Chapter 2

Marcel Charles sat in the flop-house; his cot was under the window, which allowed him to read the newspaper better. The room held several other men, but this was the only place that would take him in since his stay in prison, all those ten years. A sly smile spread on his face when he read the article about his release and he hoped that Thomas Brackenreid would soon see the seem.

He set the paper down and glance out the window, just in time to see Darby O'Farrell crossing the street. Again a smile curled his lips, hoping that the seedy little Irishman had made contact with the Inspector.

O'Farrell entered the room and walked over to where Charles sat. He pulled the small knife from his ragged coat pocket and dropped it on the cot next to Marcel, "He was as mad as a nest of wasps," the Irishman laughed. "Gottem right here," he poked Charles in the right shoulder to indicate where he's stabbed the Inspector.

"Excellent," Marcel said as he stood up, "Now I need to you to lay low for a while. Knowing Brackenreid he will have his men out looking for you," he noted wisely. O'Farrell nodded, "Sure. Where?"

"Not here," Charles noted. "They'll check all the boarding houses in the area. Find a barn or shed," he suggested.

"What will I eat?" O'Farrell questioned.

Charles reached down into his pocket and pulled out a few coins, "Buy a loaf of bread," he grumbled then stuffed some of the money into O'Farrell's grubby hand. "Come back at the end of the week," he stated. "I'll have another job for you by then," he smiled. "And remember to stay out of sight. Everything's taken care of," he warned.

O'Farrell nodded sharply and turned on his heels. He gasped the sight of two uniformed constables who stood in the doorway. Frantically he looked back over his shoulder as if he'd just been handed to the hungry wolves. "You said everything was taken care of!" he shook nervously.

Marcel laughed, "O'Farrell, these two constables are my friends. Our friends. This is Constable Dobbin and Constable Reese. They're on our side," Charles smiled.

"If you say so," O'Farrell sputtered as he quickly left the boarding house room, stepping fast past the two constables.

"Are you sure he can be trusted?" Dobbin questioned as he watched the Irishman bolt from the room.

"You know it, as long as you can supply the goods," Marcel smiled.

"It's good to see you again, Sir," Reese outstretched his right hand. Charles took it and shook it hard, "It's been a long time boys. It's time we took back Station House 7 and the area," he smiled.

"Indeed, Sir," Dobbin chimed in as he hooked his thumbs over his uniform belt.

"That's music to my ears," Charles laughed as he turned back to the window. "I have a plan," he then looked over his left shoulder.

"Fill us in," Reese said as he took several steps forward.

"In due time," Marcel smiled and looked back down onto the street from his second story room.

Back at Station House 4, the ruckus seemed to have come from a carnival that was being held by the waterfront. A number of the people in the lobby were either being arrested for pick-pocketing or those who have claimed to have been pick-pocketed.

Constable George Crabtree entered the Inspector's office, "Sir! Are you all right?" he asked, staring at the blood-soaked sleeve.

Brackenreid bushed off the comment with a slight wave of his hand, "No worse for wear, Crabtee. Thanks," he grunted. "Now tell me about that lot," he looked out into the lobby.

"It appears that these folks are either guilty or victims from the carnival down at the waterfront," the Constable explained.

"This is a bloody nuisance!" Brackenreid grumbled as he tried to drink the cold cup of tea. "Since when was a carnival held down there?" he asked Crabtree. The dishevelled Inspector pulled his loose cravat off and flung it to his desk.

The constable shrugged, "Well, I don't know, Sir. We started to get complaints about it this morning. It must be the good weather bring everyone out," George stated.

"Well, I hope they get the hell out of my station soon. I've had enough for one day, already," Brackenreid said as he decided that the cold tea wasn't cutting it for him, so he turned to the decanter of Scotch, on the bookshelf behind his desk. A couple of fingers would do as he splashed some of the amber liquid into the glass. With a sigh, he took a long sip and then lowered himself onto his black leather chair. It felt good. He could feel stress building from everything that was happening, and his chair was like a small piece of heaven.

Detective William Murdoch was the next one through the door. Under his arm was a package wrapped in brown paper and string, "Here you go Sir," he handed the parcel to his boss. "And here's this morning's, newspaper," Murdoch smiled.

"Good show, Murdoch! Now find that rat-fink O'Farrell, and get his butt in here," Brackenreid said as he opened the brown paper, exposing a crisp white shirt. A smile spread under the reddish moustache on the Inspector's face as he lifted the shirt up to examine it. "How much do I owe you, Murdoch?"

"Consider it a gift," the young detective smiled. "I'll talk to George and Henry about O'Farrell now," he said excusing himself to attend to the matter if the Inspector's attacker. George Crabtree followed the detective.

Feeling like things were now looking up, Brackenreid decided to finish his drink while reading the morning paper. The Inspector leaned back in his chair and scanned the newspaper, and then placed his fine rimmed spectacles on, noting an article on a case the constabulary had been working on. He appreciated the way the article was written and it painted Station House 4 in a favourable light. Brackenreid lifted his drink to his lips and began to sip when his eyes locked onto the article about former Inspector Marcel Charles. It came a such a shock that the man was just released from prison, that Brackenreid spewed out the Scotch all over the paper. "Bloody hell! No!" he said to himself. Suddenly the day took another unexpected turn for the Inspector, "Bloody hell," he repeated crumpling the paper. His eyes held fear as his mind raced back to the day in court and he could hear Marcel yelling for revenge as he was led from the room. Brackenreid stared forward.

From where Murdoch stood in his office, he witnessed his boss' reaction to something in the newspaper, "I'll be back in a few minutes," he told Crabtree and Higgins as he dismissed himself and entered the Inspector's office. "Sir?" he cocked his head looking at Brackenreid.

The Inspector slowly turned to face the detective, "Marcel Charles is out of prison," he said in a low calculated tone. The newspaper still crumpled in his hand. Brackenreid looked down at the wad of paper, then tossed it to his desk.

"Who?" Murdoch asked as he took a step forward.

"That bloody Marcel Charles!" Brackenreid was now on his feet, with his hands trust deeply into this trouser pockets. "He was the former Inspector at Station House 7. I caught him in some dubious business and blackmail. Needless to say, it ended his career when he was locked away," the Inspector huffed. "He's so crooked, I swear they will screw him into the ground," he motioned with his right hand.

"I still don't see what the issue is, I'm afraid," William said, studying his boss' face.

Brackenreid looked at the young Detective, "He swore he'd get revenge on me for having him locked away," the Inspector stated. His jowl muscles flexed in thought.

"But that was so long ago. Surely he's forgotten that by now," Murdoch tried to reason.

Brackenreid snorted, "Care to wager?" he asked picking up his unfinished glass of Scotch, belting the remainder back in one swallow. His blue eyes stared down at his desk while his mind raced with horrible thoughts. The Inspector knew that Charles was evil enough to even hurt his family.

Murdoch didn't know what to say, "I'm sure that everything will be okay," he tried to easy the tension. He wasn't certain that Brackenreid heard him. "Sir?" he spoke a little louder.

Brackenreid looked over to the Detective, "What is it Murdoch?"

"If you'd like we could find out where this Marcel Charles is staying and find out what his intentions are," Murdoch offered.

Brackenreid thought for a second and quickly pulled his right hand from his pocket, clicking his fingers at the suggestion, "That's a great idea, Murdoch! Do that, will ya?" he asked.

Murdoch smiled. "We'd be happy to do that for you," he nodded sharply before leaving the room. Now he was hoping that this Marcel Charles fellow will have long buried the hatchet.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

William Murdoch regrouped with Constables Crabtree and Higgins, "What was that about Sir?" Crabtree asked with great concern.

"I'll get to that in a moment," the Detective stated. "Now as for Darby O'Farrell. He's been identified as the man that attack the Inspector this morning. I need you to find him and bring him in."

"Darby O'Farrell must be a busy man about town," Crabtree quipped.

"How so?" Murdoch questioned the constable.

"We just received a message from Station House 7 that they're looking for him too. It appears he was up to some no good shenanigans," Crabtree noted while handing the message to his boss.

"Looks like we'll have a joint investigation," Murdoch shrugged. "As for the other matter, " need you to keep vigilant for a Marcel Charles," he added.

"Isn't he the one in the newspaper? The former inspector?" Crabtree was quick to put two and two together.

"Indeed his is, George. I need to speak with him as well, about another matter all together different."

George and Henry nodded and gathered their helmets, "Lets find O'Farrell, Henry," Crabtree urged. The two men were soon out of the station and onto the street.

William Murdoch decided that he would visit the head warden at the Don Jail. The secretary lead him to the warden's office and let him in. "Thank you for taking the time to see me," Murdoch smiled and extended his hand for a shake.

Warden Johnston stood up from behind his desk and shook the detective's hand. "Nice to meet you Detective," he smiled and then motioned to the large black leather chair in front of the desk, "Please take a seat," he offered.

William nodded, and removed his hat, "Thank you."

"What can I do for the Toronto Constabulary today?" Johnston asked as he took his chair and folded his arms in front of him on the massive oak desk.

"I'd like to talk to you about this man," the Detective stated as he handed the warden the newspaper, and pointed to the article about Marcel Charles.

"Oh?" the warden looked up from the paper. "Is there a problem?"

"I hope not. You see, Inspector Brackenreid recalls Mister Charles said somethings to him after his trial. Rather threatening things," William explained.

"Interesting," the warden said placing the newspaper down as he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together, "I can't imagine Marcel threatening anyone anymore," he shrugged. "He took full responsibility for his actions and atoned them by immersing himself in religious studies. He's a very humble man, who is warm and religious now. I believe he has found God," he stated.

"I see," William smiled weakly.

"At first, mind you, Marcel was rather rebellious. Being a member of the constabulary and being found guilty of some dubious crimes took their toll on him, but with some counselling he turned around. I feel that the will make a positive contribution to society now. I believe he said something about joining a church," the warden smiled.

"Well, that is a relief. I'm certain that Inspector Brackenreid will be happy to hear this," the Detective said with a broad smile as he stood up from the chair. Murdoch placed his hat back on his head and walked to the door, "May I ask where he is now? I'd like to meet him"

"My secretary will be happy to supply that to you," Johnston motioned.

"Very well," the Detective said as he opened the door and left the office and got Marcel Charles' address at the boarding house. With a tip of his hat, he walked down the stairs to the sidewalk where he'd parked his bicycle. He thought to stop in at Station House 4 and update his boss before paying Charles a visit.

It was a swift ride back to the station. By the time William had got there, Brackenreid had changed into his new shirt and was pacing his office floor. The Inspector saw the Detective walk through the station to his office and quickly moved to the door, where he now was leaning on his door frame with his arms tightly folded across his chest. "So?" Brackenreid questioned gruffly.

"According to Mister Johnston, Marcel is a changed man," Murdoch explained as he removed his hat, placing it on his desk.

"Bullocks!" Brackenreid spat out. "A leopard can't change his spots!" the Inspector bellowed as he pushed off the door jamb and thrust hands deep into his trouser pockets and began to rock on his heels.

"Well, it seems this one did," Murdoch continued with a slight cock to his head. "Mister Johnston stated that Marcel was, to use his words, a very humble man, who is warm and religious in nature, and has found God."

Brackenreid's eyes widened, "Religious? Are we talking about the same man? He's a bloody thief and shyster!" He had fire in his eyes when he yelled at me from across the courtroom," he exploded.

"Maybe back then, but I'm afraid it sounds as if he's changed, Sir," Murdoch shrugged openly. "I'll pay him a visit, if you'd like," he offered.

"I'll go with you," Brackenreid snapped his fingers.

The Detective held up his hands, "That might not be such a good thing," he suggested. "I'm a good judge of character, so I think I can read through his guise if there is one," he said firmly.

The Inspector's shoulders slumped, "Well, fine then," he huffed. "I'm having a bloody Scotch," he grumbled and went back to his office.

Detective Murdoch pursed his lips. He could tell the Inspector was still rattled by the news, and rightfully so, until it was proven that Marcel Charles was a changed man, or not. And it didn't help that Darby O'Farrell was still on the loose.

About town, Constables Crabtree and Higgins had so far unsuccessfully located O'Farrell, but it seemed that the was known to the locals, especially at the Bucket of Blood pub. George held up a photograph of O'Farrell, "When is the last time you've seen him?" he asked the pub owner.

"Gee, a few days ago. Did something happen to him? He hasn't been in for his usual," the scruffy barkeep leaned onto the long rough bar top.

"Lets say he's a person of interest in a police matter," George replied.

"Ah, I see," the barkeep then laughed. "I figured he'd be caught for one thing or another," he half laughed. "O'Farrell is a rat, that's for sure. Half the time he tries to sneak out without paying," he added.

"Well, how do you stop him from doing that?" Crabtree asked.

The barkeep ticked his head to the end of the bar, "He watches for anyone that tries to leave without paying," he smiled.

Higgins and Crabtree exchanged looks after they glanced at the burly man seated at the end of the bar. "Let us know when you see O'Farrell again, but don't tell him we're looking for him," George said firmly.

"Yeah, sure," the barkeep grunted as he pushed himself away from the bar to serve a customer.

Crabtree and Higgins frowned, "Let's keep looking, Henry," Crabtree suggested and nudge Higgins toward the door of the pub.


	4. Chapter 4

It took about half an hour for Murdoch to ride over to the boarding house where Marcel Charles was staying. The Detective recognized it from having payed a few visits to it on other cases. Just like any other time, there were a few of Toronto's seedier types at the entrance. Murdoch parked his bike and strolled over to one of them, "I'll pay you to keep an eye on thist bicycle," he said as he flashed his badge under his suit coat.

"Yeah, sure," the grizzled man grunted. Murdoch nodded sharply and pulled a dollar bill from his pocket. The loss in money was far less a loss of the bike. "No funny business," he warned as he handed the man the money. With a glance over his right shoulder he entered the boarding house to locate Marcel Charles.

The Detective made his way to the boarding house office and found the owner, "I'd like to speak with one of your boarders," the said again as he flashed his badge.

"Who's in trouble this time?" the tall thin man asked. He was wiry in his mannerisms. His face was stubbled with a day's growth of facial hair that matched his unkempt greying hair. His suit was ill-fitting as well.

Murdoch's eyebrows lifted, "Hopefully no-one," he forced a slight smile, having being tired of being asked the same question. "But I would like to talk to Marcel Charles about a matter," he then stated.

"Oh, him," the owner snorted. "Just got out of prison, that one," he wanted.

"Yes. I am aware of that," the Detective stated. "Now, please," he urged.

"Second floor," the owner merely pointed to the ceiling , indicating "up".

"Thank you," William stated as he turned to the stairs, which creaked with ever step-tread that was stepped on. The building was musty and grungy, and a state of disrepair. Murdoch was surprised that the town hand ordered the place to be fixed up or torn down. The Detective reached the second floor and looked into one of the large rooms. There were an number of men in this one, "Marcel Charles?" he asked. None of the men responded so he went to another large room and asked again, with the same results.

It was three times the charm when William found Marcel Charles in his room at his cot, "Mister Charles?" he approached.

Marcel looked up from the old worn bible he held, "Yes?"

Murdoch stopped in front of the man; he had a pensive look on his face. "I'm Detective William Murdoch," he introduced himself.

"What's wrong?" Charles was quick to ask, wondering if there was something wrong with his release from prison.

"Nothing. I hope," the Detective spoke calmly, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "I need to ask you a few questions," he then stated.

"Please, sit with me," Charles offered with a sweep of his right hand toward the other half of the cot. Murdoch nodded and slowly sat down. "What are your questions, Detective?"

"I don't mean to offend you, but this happened many years ago, at your trial," William began.

"Oh," Marcel paused, tilting his head sideways. "That is a long time ago," he then nodded. "A time I'm not proud of," he then looked down at his bible. "This saved me," he said as he looked back up to the Detective.

Murdoch nodded, "So I understand. But," he chose his words carefully, watching Marcel to see if there was any sign of a lie, "you threatened Inspector Brackenreid, with some very serious intentions."

Marcel frowned, "I recall," he looked down at the Holy book. "Those were horrible things for me to say, and I suspect that Thomas is worried," he looked back up to Murdoch.

William nodded, "Very much so," he said calmly.

"Oh dear," Marcel sighed. "Please tell him that I'm a changed man and there is no eye for an eye, anymore. He need not fear," he smiled slightly. "I've seen the ways of Our Lord," he firmly continued as he held up the Bible. "God has spoken to me, and has shone a light in my heart," he looked upwards. Murdoch's eyes followed before he looked back at Marcel. Slowly Charles looked back at the Detective, "Wish Thomas well for me. Tell him that I'm terribly sorry that he's been burdened with those words all these years," he gripped William's forearm for assurance.

Murdoch nodded, "I will," he smiled. Marcel released his hold and smiled.

The Detective stood up and adjusted his hat, "Thank you for your time," he extended his hand out, which Marcel slowly took. There was a slight shake, before the Detective tipped his hat and left the boarding house. He was relieved to see his bicycle was still there, and so was the man he gave the money to. With a smile and a nod, he hopped on and peddled off, back to Station House no. 4.

By the time he arrived at the station, he found Margaret Brackenreid in her husband's office, and clearly flustered over the situation. "Now Margaret, Murdoch's gone off to find the sod, and will report back," he assured his wife that they were looking into the matter.

Margaret pursed her lips and crossed her arms, "He should have been sentenced more time than ten years," she then huffed. Murdoch arrived just about the same time as the comment. He peeled off his hat, and held it in his hands, in front of his chest, "Mrs. Brackenreid," he smiled and quickly looked at his boss. The Inspector made a face, and then held his hands out to his side, "So, tell me," he urged.

Murdoch moved further into the Inspector's office, "Well, he seems quite sincere and expressed his sorrow in saying the things he did in the courtroom," William stated.

Brackenreid's face reddened, "What a load of bullocks!" he burst out. "That rat will find away, I bloody well know it!" Margaret's eyes dashed between the two men.

"Now, Inspector, I think you might be over reacting just a tad," William held up his right hand to calm his boss down.

"Over reacting? My life and family are at stake here!" the Englishman was irate now. "How can you tell me that Marcel Charles has changed? I knew what he was like, and there no way that son of a," Brackenreid stopped himself short, glancing at his wife who stood with her mouth hanging with the anticipation of the next word. "You know what I mean," he grumbled as he briskly walked back to his desk and sat down.

Murdoch moved to the desk, "Sir, I can only go on what I saw and what I heard. He seemed very sincere. He's found God," he stated again.

"Bully! I'll get Margaret to bake him a bloody apple pie and invite him over for dinner!" Brackenreid barked. Margaret rolled her eyes at the thought, "Oh Thomas," she sighed. Murdoch frowned, "We have to give him a change," he urged.

"Fine," Brackenreid flung his right hand out as if he'd given up.

"Thank you for looking into the matter, Detective," Margaret tried to smile. "I'll see you at dinner, Thomas," she looked over to her husband. Brackenreid was clearly exasperated as he sat with this chin resting on his balled up left fist. He just stared forward. Margaret walked to her husband and patted him on the right forearm, "Don't worry," she whispered. Thomas' eyes slowly shifted to meet her's, "That's easy for you to say, Margaret," he sighed sarcastically.

Making matters worse for the Inspector were Constables Crabtree and Higgins, who had just arrived back at the station house. George removed his helmet, placing it on his desk in the bull-pen. He strolled to the door of Brackenreid's office to find Mrs. Brackenreid just leaving. He acknowledged her as she passed by him.

Crabtree entered the room, wearing a perplexed look on his face. "How'd you make out, George?" Murdoch asked.

"Not very well, Sirs," Crabtree responded. "It's almost as if Darby O'Farrell just up and vanished! I know he couldn't have, but is sure seems that way," he stated matter-of-factually.

"Bloody hell," Brackenreid growled, his shoulders slumped.


	5. Chapter 5

Three days had gone by since the incident with Brackenreid and O'Farrell. Again it was another fine day in Toronto with the gentle spring breeze coming in off of Lake Ontario. Constables Dobbin and Reese entered the boarding house and made their way up to the common room where Marcel stayed. Several men scrambled out of the room a their sight, but they didn't care if they were wanted. They were here on business.

Charles looked up from his cot at the end of the room. "Ah," he smiled. "I'm glad you finally made it." Darby O'Farrell was sitting next to Marcel, holding his hand over his bare right forearm. His face held no expression as if he was in another world.

"We were a little busy," Dobbin stated, as he hooked his thumbs over his uniform belt.

"I'm sure you were. It's a different world out there now," Marcel stated as he rolled the syringe up in a cloth and tucked into his carpet bag.

"Is he ready?" Reese asked as he stooped over and looked into Darby's eyes.

"Oh yes. And Darby," Charles nudge O'Farrell to get his attention. "Remember to put up a good fight," he smiled. Darby merely nodded in agreement, "Why are they going to arrest me?" he slurred his question.

"Don't you remember? You hurt Inspector Brackenreid," Marcel chuckled, as he cupped O'Farrell's bearded chin in his hand. O'Farrell nodded, "I remember now," his eyes shifted to Reese and Dobbin.

"Well, you know what to do," Charles stood back and allowed the two constables to take O'Farrell with them. "Let me know how it goes," he smiled.

"Certainly, Sir," Dobbin said as he hooked his arm under O'Farrell's. The Irishman looked up at the taller man with the bushy moustache, "Calm down. Whatcha tryin' ta do? Rip me arm off?" he slurred as he tried to pull free from Dobbin. Marcel stepped forward, "You better remember what to do," he warned O'Farrell. "No more goodies for you other ways," he jabbed the man in the forearm. The Irishman nodded, "I'll make it up with Brackenreid, be assured of that. Don't know why I have ta be nice to a copper, though. I'll be back later for more," he mumbled. Marcel smiled broadly, knowing full well that the Inspector love to get his hands on O'Farrell. The drugs were now beginning to kick in and O'Farrell was getting anxious. "Take him," Charles ordered the two constables, and they did.

Constables Crabtree and Higgins were doing their rounds when George spotted O'Farrell, "Isn't that Darby?" he nudged Henry. Higgins looked to where George was pointing, at the alley entrance. "It sure looks like him," he studied the man. O'Farrell looked confused and possibly drunk.

"Let's take him in. The Inspector will want to see him, for sure," Crabtree stated as he pulled his billy club from his belt, as he expected O'Farrell to put up a fight, or flee. "You there," Crabtree hollered across the street at O'Farrell. The Irishman look over at the two Constables as they swiftly moved toward him, "Leave me me," he stammered as he tried to reenter the alley from which he came.

"You're not getting away this time O'Farrell. Inspector Brackenreid at Station House No 4 wants a word with you about the other day," Crabtree demanded as he grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Oh, right!" O'Farrell found some humour in the comment about Brackenreid and started to laugh uncontrollably, holding the brick wall for balance. Both Constables exchanged looks and took offence to Darby's response and lunged at him, grabbing him by the arms, this time. O'Farrell squirmed as he tried to pull himself free, but the narcotics that Marcel injected him with made him weak and dizzy. O'Farrell thought he was going to throw up. Sensing that O'Farrell was not lucid, both Crabtree and Higgins were a little more careful with their new "friend" as they walked him back to the police station.

Brackenreid was on the telephone when he looked up just as Crabtree and Higgins escorted Darby O'Farrell to the interview room. The Inspector quickly wrapped up his phone call and hung the headset down on the cradle. He stood straight and tugged on the bottom of his black waistcoat. There was a look of determination on his face as he briskly walked to his office door and pulled it open.

The noise in the main section of the station indicated that there was something else going on, but he didn't want any business with it – his mind was set on finding out why Darby O'Farrell stuck him in the shoulder with a pocket knife, earlier in the week. Brackenreid marched down the hallway and met Higgins at the interview room door. The constable stood aside, "He's acting really weird, Sir," he cautioned. George stepped through the door, "Sir, meet Darby O'Farrell," he smirked as he swept his open palm toward the Irishman. Brackenreid made a face at the constable before he stepped through the door and closed it.

O'Farrell was pacing the floor in the dark-wood room. "Sit down!" Brackenreid bellowed.

Darby jumped and glared at the Inspector, "You're not my boss," he hissed while refusing to take a seat.

"No. But you're in my bloody station house, and I said sit down," Brackenreid leaned across the large table.

The Irishman laughed before he spat on the floor. The action infuriated the Inspector who was around the table in a flash, grabbing O'Farrell by the lapels of his tattered coat. "You don't spit in my station," he glared at the man he held tightly against the wall. Higgins was assigned to watch from the screen view window and he knew that his boss was about to get more irate. Higgins wondered whether he should summon the Detective. It seemed whatever was happening at the front of the house had most of the men busy. He turned to watch for a few seconds as he saw his colleagues quickly walking back and forth. His attention was drawn back to the screened window when he heard a thud from inside the room. Brackenreid just backhanded O'Farrell.

The Irishman sneered at the Inspector, "I'd stab you again if I had knife!" he barked.

"Why did you to begin with, you dirty little bugger," the Inspector shook Darby for the answer.

O'Farrell began to laugh again. "Answer the bloody question!" Brackenreid backhanded O'Farrell again, this time splitting his lip. Darby was seething, "I should have done it more than once! But he only wanted me to get you once," he huffed as he held the back of his hand to his bleeding lip.

"He who?" Brackenreid shook Darby again.

O'Farrell shook his head, "I won't get any more treats if I say!" he practically cried.

"Treats? Who cares about bloody treats? You jabbed for a reason and I bloody well want to know why!" Brackenreid shook Darby again. This time O'Farrell's eyes rolled back in their sockets. The Inspector's jaw dropped open.

There was a knock on the door and Thomas looked over his shoulder, as he held O'Farrell. Murdoch entered the interview room followed by Inspector James Wallis from Station House No 7.

Darby slowly slid down the wall and collapsed on the floor.

"Tom?" Wallis studied his colleague.

"Jim, he stuck me with a pocket knife earlier this week," Brackenreid recounted. "He indicated that someone put him up to it," the Inspector said as he watched Murdoch with O'Farrell.

"He's wanted over at Station House No 7 too," Wallis informed Brackenreid who took a seat watch his Detective. Murdoch looked up and shook his head. Brackenreid swallowed.

"You only roughed him up. Get him to his feet, Tom," Wallis smiled knowing how his friend operated.

Brackenreid's eyes stared stared down at the man, "It's worst then that, he's dead Jim," he whispered. Thomas swallowed hard as he suddenly found himself in a very difficult position.


	6. Chapter 6

As requested, George Crabtree quickly summoned Doctor Julia Ogden, to attend to the fallen man at the station house. She entered the interview room to find the Inspector seated where he had sat moments before. He looked distraught as he stared down at Darby O'Farrell, his left arm on the table with his hand dangling over the edge; nervously picking at his thumb with his his index finger. His right hand rested on his right thigh with Darby's blood on the smeared on the knuckles. Julia glanced around the room, not knowing who the other man was; her eyes came to William's. The Detective drew a deep breath and knelt down next to O'Farrell.

Dr. Ogden knelt down next to the prone man, and rolled him on to his back. "That's Inspector Wallis. He came to collect this man," William whispered. Julia nodded as she studied the dead man's face. The rivulet of blood running from the corner of his mouth has ceased without. Julia glanced up at the Inspector noting the blood on his knuckles, "What happened?" she quietly asked him.

Brackenreid shrugged, "He said someone put him up to jabbing me in the shoulder, but he wouldn't say who," he spoke with honesty. "I was trying to shake it out of him," he sighed.

"He died in your hands, Inspector," Julia stated as she stood up, facing him. Murdoch also stood.

"I know," the Inspector whispered, looking up at the doctor. "I didn't mean to do it. I only hit him twice and then he went limp," he stated. Inspector James Wallis was seated in the other chair and awaited the doctor's report on the preliminary examination before he spoke. Everyone in the room knew what he was going to eventually say.

Julia nodded, "I'm sure you didn't. But until I preform the full autopsy, I don't know the cause of death. It could be something else," she stated.

"That being said," Wallis stood up from the chair, "I have to arrest you for murder, Tom," he announced.

Brackenreid shot a look over his shoulder to his colleague, "You're joking," he half laughed while glaring at the other Inspector.

"I'm afraid not, Tom," Wallis sighed. "Had over your badge," he asked with his hand extended.

Brackenreid looked over to Murdoch for some help. "We'll sort it out quickly Sir," he reassured his boss, despite the the concerned look on his face. Brackenreid's eyes narrowed, "This is all wrong," he stood up quickly. "That little maggot stuck me with a pen knife and touted that someone put him up to it," he angrily pointed down to O'Farrell. "I want to know who and why," the Inspector looked over to Murdoch.

"Of course Sir," the Detective nodded. Murdoch's mind was racing trying to put pieces together to help his boss, but there was scant few.

"I'm sorry Inspector," Julia tried to smile. "I'll will work as quickly as possible," she added.

Brackenreid's shoulders sagged. Slowly he unpinned his badge from his vest and dropped it onto the table. "Bloody hell," he grumbled. Wallis motioned for the two constable to gather Brackenreid. The two men tower the Englishman by several inches. Constables Murray and Hutchinson stood on either side of the Inspector. "Station House No 7," Wallis instructed.

"Station House No 7? Why can't he stay here?" Murdoch stepped forward questioning the Inspector.

"You know I can't leave him here, with his friends," Wallis stated. "Murder is murder and rules are rules, until proven otherwise," he sternly noted.

"Oh, come on," Brackenreid argued. "This is bloody ridiculous! Other men have died during interviews," the Inspector was furious.

Wallis stepped forward and looked his colleague in the eyes, "You know as well as I do, Tom, this is not right. But as a cop, I have to do what I have to do. No harm will come to you until this is all straightened out with a thorough investigation," Wallis smiled slightly. Brackenreid tried to smile back – he knew Wallis was right as he would have done the same. The Inspector looked over to the doctor, "This had better not take long," he looked back William.

"I'll be hasty," Ogden promised as she looked over to Murdoch.

"I'll keep you posted, Sir," Murdoch stated.

With a sigh, Brackenreid followed the two constables out of the interview room and out of the station, obviously turning heads whilst doing so. They didn't even stop to get the Inspector's hat or suit coat. Brackenreid glared at Wallis before he climbed into the back of the waiting police patrol wagon that was there to pick up Darby O'Farrell. Brackenreid sat down and folded his arms tightly across his chest as the metal door was closed and lock. He had suspicion who was responsible, but couldn't see how with what Murdoch had told him or what the connection was between him and O'Farrell. A frown formed on his face. The wagon jerked as the horses began to pull it away from Station House No 4. Brackenreid could see the building through the mesh grate on the back door, and soon it was gone from sight. He swallowed deeply.

William watched as other men carried the dead man out of the interview room. His eyes narrowed and he decided to follow up on a hunch that it was Marcel Charles who had put Darby O'Farrell up to the deed. Murdoch held a certain look on his face as he thought it through. Julia recognized the look, "William?" she asked with concern.

The Detective slowly looked over to his wife, "Nothing. Maybe," he said before he left the room. Julia tilted her her as she watched William leave. She knew he was on to something.

Several blocks away, the police patrol wagon stopped in front of Station House No 7. Constable Morris opened the back door and motioned for Brackenreid to exit the carriage; reluctantly he did. He was thankful that he wasn't handcuffed, at least. He shook his head in dismay as they walked up the steps of the station. It was an imposing building on the block and one could see how such a building could have been the headquarters for corruption – just the mere size makes a man feel small.

Constable Hutchinson was a polite fellow and even opened the door for the Inspector. Brackenreid's mind cascaded back in time when he stepped through the doors. He could see Marcel Charles standing defiantly with his arms crossed at the main desk after he learned that he was being taken down. Brackenreid froze for a moment.

"Sir?" Morris looked at the Inspector. Brackenreid shook himself out of the vision, "Nothing," he stated, blinking his eyes trying to refocus on the present moment.

"This way," Hutchinson motioned toward the hall that lead down to the holding cells below. As they passed by the bull pen, Reese nudged Dobbin with his elbow, "Look who's here," an evil smile spread slowly across his face.

"We'll have to say hello," Dobbin chuckled.

"Do you think he'll remember us?" Reese asked.

"If he doesn't we'll make sure he does," Dobbin said as they watched the other two constables guild the Inspector to a jail cell in the basement. Inspector Wallis followed the three men as they went down the stairs.

Once in the holding area, Constable Hutchinson opened one of the vacant cell doors. Thomas Brackenreid scowled at men as he entered the cell. He turned just as the door was closed and locked. Brackenreid walked to the cell door and grabbed the iron bars, "Is this necessary?" he asked his colleague.

"You'd do the same thing, Tom, and you know it. I'm sure that you won't be here for very long. Your Detective and Doctor Ogden will figure something out soon, I'm sure," he smiled. "Consider it a vacation away from work.," he added as a hint of levity.

Brackenreid's hands fell to his sides and he snorted as he stuff them into his trouser pockets, "Some vacation," he turned away.

"Can I get you anything?" Wallis asked.

"No, but can you tell Margaret that I won't be home for dinner," Brackenreid requested. "Sure, Tom," James Wallis nodded and followed the two constables back up the stairs. "Thanks, Jim," Brackenreid called after them as he walked to the cot and sat down, his hands dangled between his knees and his shoulders slumped, "Hurry up, Murdoch. I don't like this one bloody bit," he said to himself.


	7. Chapter 7

Murdoch was once again on his bicycle and crossing town to the boarding house where Marcel Charles was staying. He hoped that the man who avouched his innocence and his willingness to be a better man had held his word. The Detective pulled his bicycle up in front of the building and hoped off. This time two men approached with their hands outstretched and willing to watch the bike. Murdoch's eyes shifted between the two and quickly gave them each a small sum. As he walked through the doors he mumbled, "I hope I don't have to come back here too often, it's getting more expensive to park," he sighed. The Detective walked briskly to the boarding house office, stopping only long enough to lift the lapel of his suit coat to flash his badge. He quickly climbed the stairs, feeling every second mattered toward freeing his boss. Murdoch strolled to the room, to find Marcel Charles still on the cot at the end of the room.

Murdoch wove his way through the cots and men to reach Charles, "We meet again," the Detective forced a smile. There was a feeling he got this time, and it wasn't a good one.

"Yes, Detective, what is it? You look puzzled," Charles spoke.

Murdoch stepped closer, "Indeed I am," he stated. Slowly he pulled a wanted poster for Darby O'Farrell from the inside pocket of his coat. "Do you know this man?" he asked, handing the page to Marcel.

Charles looked at it and shook his head no, "Never seen him before in my left. Why?" he coyly asked.

"This is the man that attacked Inspector Brackenreid," William pointed out.

"Well, I certainly hope you caught him. No wonder Thomas is worried," Marcel looked down to his Bible,

"We caught him, alright. But he claimed that someone put him up to the attack," Murdoch stated firmly and waited to see the reaction to his comment.

Marcel paused, "Surely you don't think I would do such a thing? Maybe all those years ago, I might have," he shook his head in pious sorrow. "Why would anyone do such a horrible thing?" William noted a slight smile at the corner of Charles' mouth. "That's a good question Mister Charles," he said flatly. "But I full intend to find out," he added.

"Locking the bugger away would be a good start," Marcel suggested, he handed the paper back to Murdoch, who returned it to the pocket in his coat.

"Perhaps, if he hadn't of died while in custody," William stated.

"Oh dear," Charles said as he fought hard to hide his emotions of glee. It seemed everything was coming together nicely. "That will look bad on the Constabulary," he shook his head. "And I know what that's like," he snorted with a hint of coincidental humour.

"Yes, I'm sure you do," William replied.

"Well, I'm not sure how I can help you, Detective," Marcel looked up at William.

Murdoch acknowledged the comment by touching the brim of his hat, "Thank you for your time," he smiled slightly – or more annoyed. The Detective left the room and the boarding house. Once again his bicycle was intact for which he was grateful. William looked back at the door, and then up to the second floor, there was something unsettling about his second visit with Marcel Charles. Maybe the Inspector was right.

Across town at Station House No 7, Inspector Wallis and Constables Hutchinson and Morris walked the hall to the Inspector's office.

Dobbin and Reese saw their chance to visit Brackenreid down in the cell. They nonchalantly walked toward the door that went to the holding cells. With a quick look around to make sure no one was paying them much attention, they made a dash through the door and down the stairs. The area was dark with only a few barred windows in the basement letting in the late day sunlight.

The first cell was empty, and Thomas was in the middle set of four. The empty cell gave Dobbin the perfect opportunity to rattle his nightstick along the bars as they two men walked to Brackenreid's cell.

The Inspector looked up from his cot, his eyes had adjusted to the low light, and upon recognition, he stood up and backed away, "You two," he snarled.

"Oh, you do remember us," Reese smiled. "How kind," he said as they stopped int font of the holding cell.

"Who could forget the likes of you. You both should have been jailed just like your crooked boss," Brackenreid barked.

"Now is that anyway to talk?" Dobbin asked as he pulled the keys from his pocket and began unlocking the door. Brackenreid further backed into his cell, his eyes wide with fear as both Constables stepped into the space.

"What do you want?" the Englishman question as he was now back against the rough stone wall.

"We've got a message for you," Reese smiled as he took another step closer to the Inspector. Brackenreid knew he was in for it. At first Reese cracked him in the ribs with his billy-stick before he landed a few solid punches to his gut with his balled up right hand. Thomas remained doubled over, holding his arms tightly over his abdomen. Reese leaned forward grabbing the Inspector by the back of his neck and whispered, "Marcel Charles says 'hello'. And if you breath a word about this to anyone, we'll pay Mrs. Brackenreid a visit," he released his hold of Brackenreid and snapped his club into the palm of his hand before he shoved the Inspector to the floor. Brackenreid held his side and groaned. His eyes narrowed at the two men. He bit his bottom lip to refrain from saying what was on his mind – that would be that the two Constables would pay for what they just did.

The two men left the jail cell, locking it after them. With another suspicious look around, they quickly left the cell block and headed back upstairs, trying to look as nonchalant was possible.

Murdoch entered Station House No 7 and made his way to Inspector Wallis' office, for he wanted to see his own Inspector. "He gently rapped his knuckled on the door, "Sir?"

"What is it Detective Murdoch?" Wallis asked from his desk.

"I'd like to talk to Inspector Brackenreid," Murdoch stated.

Wallis stood up and walked to the door, "Certainly," he smiled and strolled with the Detective to the stairway, "Have you found anything out?" the Inspector asked.

"Nothing much," Murdoch said as he accidentally walked into the shoulder of Reese. They made eye contact and Murdoch apologized, with a slight tip of his hat. The Constable pretty much ignored him, which caused William to frown and look over his shoulder, watching the man.

Wallis and Murdoch made their way down the stairs and saw Brackenreid labouring to get up and to the cot, "Sir!" Murdoch exclaimed as he rushed to the holding cell door. Wallis was at his side and quickly unlocked the door, allowing the Detective into the cell.

"Sir, what happened?" William assisted his friend to the nearby cot and eased him down. Brackenreid shook his head in despair, "I took a tumble," he said through his clench teeth, while still holding his side.

Murdoch huffed and looked over to Wallis, "He did not take a tumble, I assure you that."

Wallis walked over to another occupied holding cell, "Did you see who roughed up that man?" he pointed to Brackenreid. The scruffy man remained on his cot and slowly shook his head no. Wallis pursed his lips in disappointment, his eyes narrowed and he spun back around, watch Murdoch trying to pull the truth out of his boss, "Leave it be, Murdoch," Brackenreid snapped.

The Detective stood straight ans stepped back from the Inspector, and instinctively knew there was much more going on than what met the eye, "We'll get to the bottom of this, one way or another, Sir," he tried to assure his boss. Brackenreid looked up from where he sat, there was pain in his eyes, "Thanks," was all he could say, before his gaze went to the floor. Murdoch's left eyebrow lifted in thought. None of this was coincidental. He chose not to tell his boss of his latest meeting with Marcel Charles, even though that was his intention.


	8. Chapter 8

By the time Murdoch got back to Station House No 4, Margaret Brackenreid was sitting in his office with her gloved hands flat on her light pink skirt. Her mouth was tight, and she looked unamused. William entered the room and removed his hat, "Mrs. Brackenreid," he acknowledged as he moved further into the office.

Margaret's eyes narrowed at the Detective, "Where's Thomas?" she curtly asked, glancing across the bullpen to the Inspector's empty office.

Murdoch drew a deep breath as he walked around his desk, placing his hat on the corner before he took his chair opposite his boss' wife. He placed his hands neatly in front of him on his large busy desk. "There was an incident earlier today, with a suspect," the Detective chose his words carefully. "Unfortunately while the Inspector, your husband, was interviewing the person, the suspect died," he swallowed as he watched Margaret's face.

"Thomas killed him?" Margaret slowly asked.

William opened his hands, "We don't know yet what killed him," he explained, "however, it was prudent that police procedures were followed," he added.

"I want to talk to him," Margaret stated as she stood up.

"That might be a problem," Murdoch said as he too stood hoping to stop Mrs. Brackenreid from storming out of his office and down to the jail cells.

"What kind of problem? Thomas is all right, isn't he?" Margaret quickly asked.

Murdoch paused, "Well, he is and he isn't," he tried to explain.

"Detective, what is going on!?" Margaret's voice rose slightly and her demeanour grew more exasperated.

"Inspector Wallis, from Station House No 7 was here when the incident happened, and he insisted that the Inspector go there," William explained. Margaret's eyes narrowed. She heard something in Murdoch's voice. "What's wrong?" she asked, squaring herself to him.

Murdoch didn't know how to say it, so he came right out with it, "It seems that someone had beaten him while he was in custody but he won't say who." Murdoch hoped that Mrs. Brackenreid might have a clue whether it was O'Farrell's friends or someone further afield.

"Margaret's mouth dropped open. "Is he all right?"

William nodded, "As far as I could tell. Perhaps a bruised rib the way he was holding his side," winched remembering what his boss looked like.

"You have to get him out of there. He's in trouble," Margaret demanded.

"We're working on it. Believe me. I haven't heard anything from the autopsy of the suspect, yet," Murdoch stated firmly. But then he thought that Mrs. Brackenreid's comment about his boss being in trouble rather odd. "How do you know he's in trouble? Is there a reason I should know why he wouldn't tell me who beat him?" he asked, stepping around this desk with concern.

Margaret sighed and sat back down in the chair, "It's a code he came up with. It usually means that who ever did it has threatened his family. Us," she fussed with her purse. "This all came about after the O'Sheas beat him so badly the last time. He came up with that idea to warn me and the boys," she said looking down with her lower lip quivering.

Murdoch's eyebrows lifted in thought, "That was a very sound thing come up with. Clever," he spoke calmly and offered a smile.

"What do we do?" she asked, looking up at the Detective.

Murdoch drew a deep breath and thought for a moment. He then looked Mrs. Brackenreid in the eyes, "If we're to catch the perpetrator I need to make sure you and the boys are safe. I'd like you to go away for a few days, and only tell me where you're going. I'll have several constables at your house at all times to make sure nothing happens to it," he stated.

"What about John and Bobby's schooling?" Margaret asked.

"They'll have to make up that time. I'm sure you know this is much more important that their schooling," Murdoch reasoned.

Margaret thought about it for a moment. She looked up at the Detective, "Tell Thomas that I said 'bloody hell'," a sly smile formed on her lips. Murdoch was taken aback by the comment, "Mrs. Brackenreid?" he questioned.

Margaret stood and walked to the door, "You heard me, Detective," she said as she turned and left the office.

"Bloody hell, indeed," William muttered as he looked down at his desk.

Over at the morgue, Dr. Julia Ogden and Miss Rebecca James were carefully examining the body of Darby O'Farrell. In fact Julia had just opened his chest cavity, "His insides looked like a man twice his age," she commented.

"I'm sure his lifestyle didn't help," Rebecca commented as he examined his limbs. "For example, this," she lifted O'Farrell's left arm and pointed to all the puncture marks along his forearm.

"Yes, I noticed those too," Julia fussed around with the internal organs to see if anything stood out at the reason for O'Farrell's sudden collapse. She shook her head in despair as nothing out of the ordinary seemed the cause of death, "We're going to have to look deeper," she looked up just as William entered the room.

"Hello William. Detective," Julia corrected herself as this was all official business.

"Have you found anything yet? I'm sure the Inspector wild like to hear that yo have," Murdoch stated.

"Nothing yet. His organs, despite looking like they came from a man twice his age, were all functioning," Julia said as he lifted O'Farrell's heart out of his chest and placed it in a white enamelled bowl. In the little trolly next to her.

Miss James watched the two for a moment, but the needle marks on O'Farrell's arms were still bothering her, "Don't forget about these, Dr. Ogden," she lifted the dead man's limp limb.

"Oh. Right. Thank yo Miss James," Julia smiled. "We've noticed these puncture marks," Julia and William moved closer. "They look like needle marks," Murdoch looked closer. He then stood straight, "If those are marks lift from taking some sort of narcotic, how would O'Farrell afford them?" his eyes narrowed at his own question.

"Indeed," Julia was equally puzzled.

"We can do some blood tests to see if you're suspicion is correct, Detective," Miss James stated. "By the number of different injection marks, this might have been what killed him," she weakly smiled.

William's eyes widened, "Yes. Please do," his looked over to Julia who was also nodding in approval.

"Wonderful," William chirped. "I'll inform the Inspector" he smiled and prepared to leave the morgue with the good news.

"Oh, William," Julia grabbed him by the forearm. The detective stopped in his tracks. "What?' he asked, cocking his head.

"This could take a few days," the doctor stated. "You might want to warn the Inspector that too," she tried to smiled. "I hope it's the news we need," she added.

Murdoch nodded. "Indeed," he sighed.


	9. Chapter 9

Inspector James Wallis decided that it was time to interview Inspector Thomas Brackenreid. He picked up his ring of keys and made his way to the cellar stairs, glancing around to see if anyone of his Constables were paying more attention than they should. None of them looked like they were watching him, which was a disappointment. Wallis opened the door and went down the stairs into the darken cell room.

Brackenreid was flat out on his cot, with his left arm draped across his face, covering his eyes. His right hand held his side. Wallis stopped in front of the cell, "Tom?"

"What?"

"We need to talk," Wallis stated firmly.

"Go away," Brackenreid said. He remained on the cot – not moving.

"I want you to come with me," Wallis said as he unlocked the cell door.

"I'm not moving, and I'm not talking," Brackenreid barked.

"I want you to come to the interview room with me," Wallis urged. "We need to get this mess sorted out," he added.

Brackenreid pulled his arm away from his face and slowly pushed himself up to a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the cot. He glared at Wallis, "Bloody hell! If they see me talking to you, it will only get worse," he huffed.

"Who were they, Tom?" Wallis was doing his best to get the Inspector to tell him who laid the beating on him. "If it was any one of my constables, I need to know," he insisted.

Brackenreid slowly got to his feet and stood about a foot away from the bars, "Don't you get it?" he snarled. "They'll go after my family, and this beating," he looked down at his hand still holding his ribs, "will look like child's play," he looked back at the Inspector.

Wallis sighed. "Fine, but what about O'Farrell?"

"What about him?" Brackenreid walked to the back of the cell staring at the floor.

"Did you kill him?"

Brackenreid swung around on his heels, "No! That little sot was up to something. I couldn't get it out of him. He was working for someone," the Inspector huffed. "I only hit him twice and then he dropped dead at my feet," Brackenreid explained.

Wallis re-locked the cell door, "For your sake, I hope the autopsy reveals the cause," he said as he walked back to the stairs. "I tried to call your wife, but she must not have been home. I'll try again," he added as he reached the stairs. He looked back at the Inspector. Thomas stood watching him, "I wish I could help," he said softly. Wallis nodded, "We'll get it sorted out," he smiled and left. Brackenreid lowered himself on the cot, his shoulders slumped. His forearms rested on his thighs with this hands dangling between his knees, his head lowered in despair.

Bobby and John Brackenreid had just gotten home after school. The found their mother standing at the base of the stairs that led up to the second floor. At her feet were three carpet bags. The boys exchanged looks, "Mother?" John asked.

"We have to go away for a few days," she said just as Constable Crabtree came through the doorway from the drawing room. He acknowledged the boys.

Their curiosity was now piqued. "What's going on, Mother?" Bobby quickly asked.

"You're father needs our help. And to help him, we must leave for a few days," Margaret explained. Instantly the two lads knew and each took their respective carpet bag. Margaret pick up her's.

"We have a coach in the back alley for you," Crabtree stated.

"I've informed Detective Murdoch where we will be," Margaret told the Constable as she and the boys made their way down the hall. "Hurry now," she urged the lads.

Crabtree exhaled. He hated everything about this case and knew full well that Inspector was being set up. And he knew that the Detective was doing everything he could to help clear him. Before the constable left, he made sure that two others were on site and watching over the Brackenreid residence.

Detective William Murdoch was satisfied with Mrs. Brackenreid's choice of relocation. He notified a friend at Station House No 1 that she'd be staying in the hotel just down the street, and that he was to keep an eye out for any unusual characters. "Sure, William," Constable Smith agreed. "This is indeed a terrible mess that the Inspector is in," he added.

Smith had worked with Brackenreid in the past and admired his work ethics.

Murdoch hung the heads set of his candle stick phone onto the cradle. It was now time to set part of his plan into motion. He quickly left his office and wove his way through the station and quickly down the outside stairs where his bicycle remained propped up against a post. The Detective hoped on and peddled his way over to Station House No 7.

It was now late in the day and a Spring storm was brewing as the wind was now picking up. Murdoch peddled faster, hoping to make it to the station before the sky opened up. Quickly he rounded the street corner and rode to the front doors of the station house. He glided to a stop and dismounted, leaning the bicycle on a hand railing.

A gust of wind almost caught the Detective's hat, so he held it tight to his head as he when up the stairs and entered the building. The station was as busy as his own. Through the maze of people, he could see Inspector Wallis talking to one of his constables. With determined strides, Murdoch walked to the Inspector's office, "Sir?' he interrupted the seemingly idol chatter. His hat was in hand.

"Detective Murdoch," Wallis smiled.

"I'll like to speak with Inspector Brackenreid," William stated.

"Good luck with that," Wallis huffed. "I tried to get him to talk earlier and he shut me down," the Inspector sighed.

"I figured he would, Sir. But I have something that I need to tell him," Murdoch insisted.

"Is this something that you can share?" Wallis asked.

"In due time," William answered.

"Murdoch, I know from your reputation that you are an honest man. I'd like to think that I am too," Wallis stated as he took his chair behind the large desk. "I assume we're on the same side for Brackenreid's sake," he steapled his hands.

"Yes, Sir. But I need a few minutes alone with him," Murdoch pleaded.

Wallis drew a deep breath, "You know someone in this station was responsible for his beating, don't you?" he asked.

"I do."

"So from what he says, if anyone else talks to him, it will get worse," Wallis stated.

"I know. And that's why I need to see him," William stated.

Wallis' eyes narrowed at the Detective, "You have a plan, don't you?"

"Yes," Murdoch admitted. "And I hope it works," he swallowed knowing full well that it was placing the life if Thomas Brackenreid in grievous danger.


	10. Chapter 10

Marcel Charles sat down in the chair across from Constables Reese and Dobbin. Both men were in street clothes, indicating that they were not on duty, "Is it wise that we meet here?" Reese asked as he leaned forward.

"I'm a free man. I can do as I please. It's just a coincident that we should meet after all these years. Wouldn't you agree?" Charles questioned.

Dobbin looked around at the seedy pub, "I doubt anyone we know would come in here. It's not in their jurisdiction, anyway," he looked over to his partner. Reese nodded in agreement. "Now can we get a drink?" he quickly asked.

"Yes," Marcel smiled. He caught the eye of the bartender and motioned him over.

"What?" the barkeep gruffly asked.

"We'd like some drinks. A beer for me," Charles requested and motioned for the two constables to place their order. "Same, here," they both said. The barkeep snorted as he left the table to get the drinks.

"I must say, I'm looking forward to this. It will be my first drink in many years," Marcel smiled.

"Why are we here, Sir?" Dobbin had to ask.

"To have a few drinks and to finalize my plans for Thomas Brackenreid," Charles said in a low and calculating tone. Both constables cast a glance at each other. Perhaps their former boss was going to ask too much of them. "I see," Dobbin replied just as the bartender returned with the three steins of frothy beer.

Murdoch made his way down to the holding cells. Brackenreid remained on the cot, but he had shed his stiff collar of his shirt, and the cravat. He looked quite dishevelled. "Sir?" Murdoch spoke softly.

Slowly the Inspector lifted his head, "Go away, Murdoch," he sighed. He knew that the Detective was there to try and pry information out of him.

"I have to talk to you about a few things," William paused at the iron bar door. He's eyes were locked onto his boss'. There was fear in Brackenreid's eyes – something very uncommon for the Englishman. Brackenreid heard the urgency in the Detective's voice. Slowly he stood from the cot and made his way to the jail cell door.

"You're still hurt," William noticed.

"Likely a cracked rib," Brackenreid quipped looking quickly down at the hand that held his side.

"Sir," Murdoch looked around to make sure no one else was paying attention. His eyes came back to his boss' and he leaned closer to the bars, "I've spoken with Mrs. Brackenreid. She told me to tell you 'bloody hell'," the Detective studied his boss' face, and a slight smile curled his lips under his reddish moustache, "She did, did she?" He knew what it meant.

Murdoch nodded. "I have constables at your house twenty four hours around the clock," he informed his boss.

"24/7," Brackenreid bobbed his head. "That's good Murdoch. Clever. Thank you," he nodded in approval.

Murdoch cocked his head at the "24/7" comment, "Yes. 24/7" he liked that. "I'll have to remember that," he said to himself.

"Good. Now is there anything else?" Brackenreid questioned, hoping to hear more positive news.

"Julia," the Detective caught himself, "Doctor Ogden and Miss James haven't found the cause of O'Farrell's death, yet. But they are still very much working on that. In fact it seems that someone might have been administering narcotics to him through needles so they are running tests on his blood," he added.

"That little sot wouldn't have two cents to rub together to afford that nasty habit," Brackenreid saw the obvious having gone through a rather awkward spell himself. "This just gets richer by the hour, doesn't it?" the Inspector seemed more agitated than he was only a few minutes more. "I tell you, Murdoch, I didn't kill the little bugger," he said firmly.

"I don't think you did, either, Sir," Murdoch assured his boss. "But now we need to catch whomever gave Darby those narcotics and solicited him to harm you in the first place," he sighed.

Brackenreid pursed his lips, "I'm telling you, this all comes down to that Marcel bloody Charles," he growled.

"I saw him just earlier in the day, and he's adamant that he's a changed man and is seeking no revenge against you," Murdoch informed his boss of his latest meeting with Charles.

"He's a bloody good liar! Why do you think it took so long to catch the slippery eel in the first place? Go back and read the court documents, and you'll see what I mean. He tried to oil his way around the judge and jury. We couldn't figure out who was helping him either," Brackenreid made a good point.

"If that's the case, then the only way I can think to prove that, is to indulge him in this macabre game," Murdoch reasoned. "But I don't like the idea of using you as the bait," he studied his boss' face.

"I don't like that thought either," Brackenreid snorted. "I don't want to spend another three months in hospital, or worse!" he stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets.

Murdoch nodded, "I wouldn't like that either, Sir."

"So what the hell do we bloody well do?" Brackenreid pulled his hands quickly from the pockets and grabbed the bars and looked at the Detective. The Inspector was desperate to be released.

Murdoch twisted his mouth in thought. "That is indeed a very good question," the Detective replied.

By now, Inspector James Wallis was in the room with the cells, "Put a man in with him," he indicated toward Brackenreid.

"Pardon?" Murdoch thought that he meant another man that was already behind the bars at Station House No. 7.

"Put a plain clothed constable in with him," Wallis stated as he studied the two men.

Murdoch clicked the fingers of his right hand, "That could work, Sirs," he smiled slightly. "It would obviously have to be one of our men," he added.

"Don't make it Higgins," Brackenreid quipped as he eyed the Detective. He knew how bumbling at times the well-meaning constable was, and this was not a time for bumbling. Murdoch shot a bemused look at his boss, who merely shrugged. "I'll get Jackson to do it," the Detective stated, which seemed to please the Inspector ever so slightly.

"I hope this ruse works. I'm getting a little tired of being in here," Brackenreid slowly walked back to his cot and gingerly sat down, holding his side.

"Perhaps we have somebody look at your ribs, Sir," Murdoch suggested.

"I'd appreciate that, Murdoch," Brackenreid groaned.

"I'll have Julia, er, Doctor Ogden come over. She might also shed some light on what kind of injury you have, seeing how you won't say," the Detective stated, hoping that he was able to fuel a fire inside his boss.

"Good luck with that," Brackenreid snorted.

"When will you have your constable here?" Wallis asked in a whisper.

Murdoch's eyebrows lifted, "As soon as I can get back to Station House No. 4 and inform the men as to what is happening," the Detective stated. "It might be a little longer than usual, given the storm," he noted as he glanced out the little window watching the lightening and rain.

Brackenreid shook his head, "Bloody hell," he growled. Both Murdoch and Wallis looked at the beleaguered man on the cot, and both felt very sorry for him. "I'll go now," Murdoch said, despite the raging storm outside. Brackenreid had already buried his face in his right palm as he wondered when this nightmare was going to end.


	11. Chapter 11

Charles, Reese and Dobbin left the pub, with their plan laid out, each man knew what they were to do to keep Thomas Brackenreid in jail for as long as possible. Marcel wanted him to suffer as much as he did and until he saw the Inspector found guilty, this was the route he chose.

With their collars turned up, and the rain still falling, the three men parted ways, returning to their respective residences. Reese and Dobbin were to pay Margaret Brackenreid a visit in the morning.

Meanwhile, across Toronto at the morgue, William had just walked in, dripping wet. Clearly his trip across town to his station to talk with Constable Jackson wasn't all that well thought out with the storm still rumbling around Toronto. Julia looked up from her work and chuckled at the sight of her husband, "William, what are you doing out in the rain?" she quipped as she continued with her work.

"I can to get you. I need you. Actually, the Inspector needs you," Murdoch stated as he looked down at his soaking wet clothes. A puddle was forming on the white tile floor under his feet.

"For his shoulder? That should be healing well by now," the doctor smiled as she continued to look into the microscope.

"No, not for the stab wound. Someone beat him while he was in custody at Station House No 7, and he may have a cracked rib," the Detective explained. "I'd like for you to look at him and maybe tall me what happened."

"That's terrible," Julia looked up at her husband. "Who did it?"

William shook his head and shrugged, "I don't know and he won't tell me. That's why I need your eyes," he sighed.

Julia frowned at the comment, "Well that's not right," she muttered as she turned to the sink and washed her hands. "He's suppose to be under the watchful eye of Station House No. 7, is he not?"

"I have a feeling that not everyone at Station House No. 7 share your feelings," Murdoch stated. Julia pursed her lips at the comment and looked William in the eyes, "Poor Inspector Brackenreid. Maybe you can make a case hand have him transferred back to your jail," she shook her head as she gathered her coat and medical bag. "Miss, James, please keep working on the blood tests," she asked her assistant. William took Julia's comment into consideration while she finished with Miss James.

"Certainly Doctor," James smiled as she watched the two leave the room.

With the downpour still happening, William waved down a handsome cab, "Police Station House No. 7, please," he said to the driver as they boarded.

"I thought Inspector Wallis was a friend of Inspector Brackenreid's," Julia said as she settled in.

"As far as I know they are. Inspector Wallis can't even get Inspector Brackenreid to talk, so someone in that Station House is marching to his own drummer, I'm afraid," Murdoch stated. His mind cast back to what Brackenreid said about the court records for the trial of Marcel Charles. Perhaps there was something in them that the Inspector wanted him to find. That would be his next approach to the case.

Julia could see that there was something on her husband's mind, "What is it William?"

"I need to do some research, but that will have to wait for a while," Murdoch stated. The carriage pulled up in front of the police station, and thankfully the rain had turned to a sprinkle. Murdoch handed the driver some money and helped Julia down. The two went directly into the station and found Wallis at this desk in his office.

"We meet again, Doctor Ogden," the older man looked up from some paperwork he had on his desk. He then stood, to be a little more gentlemanly. "You're here for Inspector Brackenreid?" he asked.

"Yes. I can't believe that someone would beat him while he's in your custody," Julia came right out with it.

"I find it hard to believe as well, I must admit," Wallis stated as he picked up his keys. "We'll catch who ever the perpetrator is, and they will pay for it," he added while walking to the door. "Follow me," he urged.

The trio made their way down to the holding cells. The room was much cooler and damper feeling after the rain. Brackenreid was on his cot, flat-out on his back, again with this left arm draped over his over his eyes. His right hand again holding his side. "Inspector?" Julia spoke to tried and get his attention. He didn't move. Julia looked quickly to William and Inspector Wallis.

Wallis stuck the key in the iron-barred door and opened it, "Tom? Doctor Ogden is here to look you over," the Inspector stated.

"Bloody hell," Brackenreid muttered. "I was just beginning to fall asleep," he unfolded his arm and stained to look up from the cot. Any movement was sheer agony.

"I'm sorry," Julia apologized as she entered the cell. William and Inspector Wallis followed her.

Brackenreid struggled to sit up, even though he had his legs halfway off the cot to begin with. Murdoch and Wallis assisted him, "This would be a lot better for you, if you told us who did this," William tried again.

Brackenreid shot the Detective a glare, holding the look on the younger man, "Do your homework, Murdoch," he snapped.

"I certainly will, Sir," Murdoch said firmly – there had to be something in the court records that his boss knew of that would help him with the case.

Brakenreid then looked up at Doctor Ogden, "It hurts like bloody hell," he sighed.

"Let me have a look," Julia smiled sympathetic.

"And I suppose you want me to take off my shirt," the Inspector sighed. He hatted to bare himself.

"I'm afraid so," Julia blinked. She somehow found it slightly amusing, as if the man had something to hide. In fact, for a man of his age, he was sturdy and solid, abet a bit bulky, but he kept himself active playing football with his two sons. There was nothing wrong with his physique that as a doctor and a woman could see. It must be an English thing, she mused.

Brackenreid frowned at her comment and commenced by trying to get his black waist coat off, but the pain was unbearable, "It's there another way?" he groaned.

"Let us help," Julia suggested and ticked her head for William to assist her. Brackenreid's face was red with embarrassment. He kept muttering under his breath about being manhandled but there was little he could do, as he was in too much pain to be able to help himself.

Once they got to his under shirt, Julia spared him any further bashfulness, "Now let me have a look," she asked as she lifted the garment. Brackenreid held it up out of her way. Julia studied the bruises, "Clearly there are two fist like bruises," she indicted. Brackenreid rolled his eyes slightly.

Julia then focused on the darkest of the bruises, the one across his ribs, "This one, however, was a straight object, about the diameter of a constable's night stick," she looked up at William. Murdoch was watching his boss' facial expressions, and Brackenreid's face went white at the mention of the billy-club. In fact he stared forward and swallowed. "I fell into the cot," Brackenreid squeezed out.

Julia looked up at Inspector Wallis, and shook her head no, that it wasn't possible. Wallis' eyes narrowed, but he said nothing more than, "Does he have a broken rib?"

Julia tilted her head and looked Brackenreid in the eyes; there was much being said. "I'm afraid this might hurt," she informed him.

"It's hurting now, so what would be the difference?" the Inspector quipped.

Doctor Ogden gently ran her hands over the Inspector's side and pushed lightly along the straight blackening bruises. She could feel him flinch as she touched the most tender area. She then laid her open palm over the area, "Breath in an out," she asked the Inspector. He shot a glare over to the doctor, "You know it hurts like hell to do that, don't you?" She nodded. "Incidentally your cold hands feel good," he said awkwardly.

Julia bashfully smiled and pulled her hand away, "This wasn't the result of you falling into the cot, and yes, there are two broken ribs," she stated and stood back. "I'll wrap you up," she offered.

"What about an ice pack?" William suggested. "If your cold hands felt good," he frowned at the oddity of his comment.

"Normally I would suggest that, but not in this dank environment," Julia said as she set out to wrap a wide cloth around Inspector Brackenreid's midsection. Once complete, "Might I suggest that the Inspector get a decent hot meal and an extra blanket," she looked Inspector Wallis in the eye. He knew she was right. Julia turned back to Inspector Brackenreid, "We'll be back tomorrow. Rest easy," she smiled slightly to reassure the man he was being cared for. She patted him lightly on the shoulder. His face still wore a look of betrayal, "Thank you Doctor Ogden," he sighed. It was going to be a long night for all.


	12. Chapter 12

Indeed it was a long night for everyone. William laid awake most of the night thinking about Marcel Charles and what the man has said to him on more that one occasion, pleading his innocence in the whole Brackenreid affair. He remained in bed, staring up at the ceiling. "I've seen that look many times before," Julia looked down at her husband as he lay next to him, however, she was propped up on her right elbow.

Murdoch rolled his head toward his wife, "It has to be Marcel Charles. I need to find a connection to him and Darby O'Farrell," he stated.

"What about whom ever beat up the Inspector?" Julia quickly asked.

"I'm sure we'll find them too. It's all too coincidental," William huffed. "I hope I didn't blow this by believing Mister Charles," he went back to staring at the ceiling wondering if he was conned.

"The Inspector knows you are the right man for the job. He trusts you," Julia smiled.

"That's just it," William again looked at his wife. "I've visited Marcel Charles and he's told me the same story about him not knowing Darby or wanting to hurt the Inspector and how much of a changed man he is. He swore in his bible," Murdoch got slightly agitated. I think I've let the Inspector down with my blindness. I have always hoped that people who are released from prison could reform. Perhaps not all do," he sighed.

"You can only go on with what you've learned," Julia placed her right hand on William's shoulder. "If Marcel is the one behind this whole mess, he will soon show his true self. No one can be that guileful," she assured her husband.

William swallowed, "I hope that is sooner than later for the Inspector's sake. I'm sure questions are soon going to rise as to why he's not been interviewed and formal charges laid," he stated sorrowfully.

Julia plopped back down to her pillow, "I hope we have some positive results with O'Farrell's blood work soon, too. That would certainly help," she stated.

William rolled his head sideways and look at his wife, "Nothing yet?" He hoped there was going to be a positive response.

"The problem is, there's too much!" Julia exclaimed. "It's taking us much longer to sort it out," she looked back at William.

"Can't that count for something?" he questioned.

"I suppose it could on a superficial level. Perhaps as a stave of charges toward the Inspector," she shrugged. "I suppose you would have to ask Inspector Wallis or a judge," she said.

"I'll do just that," William smiled as he tossed the bedding aside felling that at least what Julia and Miss James have come up with so far, is a start in the right direction. "I'm not helping the Inspector by laying here thinking about things," he stated and he walked to the water closet. Julia sighed. She knew this case was truly worrisome to William. He admired the Inspector so.

Across town, Reese and Dobbin approached the Brackenreid residence. They remained in civvies so not to draw unwanted attention to themselves. Constable Henry Higgins stood on the large front veranda and watched the two men approach; his thumbs were hooked over his belt. Clearly they were interested in his presence. "Gentlemen?" he stepped out in front of them as they approached the door.

"Constable. What's going on here?" Reese questioned Higgins.

"Nothing of your concern," Higgins countered.

Dobbin stepped forward, "We're here to see Mrs. Brackenreid. We had an appointment with her," he firmly stated as he towered over Henry.

"Perhaps you did, but she can't see you just now," Higgins gripped his baton a little tighter with this left hand.

"Why not?" Dobbin leaned in a little closer, so much so, Higgins was bending backward slightly.

Luckily, Constable George Crabtree rounded the corner of the house, "What's going on here?" he quickly asked as he strolled toward the men and stepped up on to the veranda, placing himself next to Higgins.

"We have an appointment with Mrs. Brackenreid," Reese replied. "We're with the insurance company," he added.

Crabtree felt an instant dislike for the men. He stalled as he was trying to come up with a reason the men couldn't meet her, "Well, you see, you can't visit right now. In fact you shouldn't even be this close to the front door," he stated.

"Why? What's wrong?" Dobbin enquired, looking at the large decorative door.

George frowned, "Mrs. Brackenreid really doesn't want this to get around," Crabtree leaned forward. "But it seems as if the boys have come down with the German measles," he confided in them. "And they're highly contagious."

"Contagious? What are they?" Reese had to ask.

"George?" Henry looked wide-eyed at is colleague.

"Shut up Henry. You've been immunized. Don't you remember?" George nudged Henry hard. Suddenly it dawned on Higgins, "Oh, right. How could I forget," he rubbed his upper right arm for further effect.

"They are sore little red dots all over your body. And they itch like mad. Sometimes your glands swell, and in worse cases your brain can swell too. That must be terrible," George rambled, motioning with his hands as his if his head was getting bigger. "You might even loose your hearing and have heart issues, if you're one of the unlucky ones," he added.

Dobbin and Reese backed away.

"I suggest you might want to set up another meeting with Mrs. Brackenreid in a few weeks. By then the virus will have run it's course," George smiled as he followed the men down the steps and to the side walk.

"Yeah, we'll be sure to do that," Reese stated before they hustled away.

Henry followed behind George and waited until the two men were well out of sight, "Is all that true, George?"

"In extreme cases, yes. You could benefit from doing more research, Henry," Crabtree thrust his right index finger the air. "I do that when I'm working on my novels," he smiled.

"Do the Brackenreid's really have the German measles?" Higgins then asked.

George cocked his head to his colleague, "Did you really get immunized?" he questioned.

"No," Henry shook his head, although he remained holding his upper arm.

"Exactly. Now get back up there on the veranda and do your job," George stated and went back to patrolling around the Brackenreid's home. There was still something bothering him about the two men, but he couldn't put his finger on what the just might be. They certainly didn't look like the average insurance agent.

Reese and Dobbin quickly strolled down the street, "Now what do we do?" Reese stopped Dobbin by the forearm.

Dobbin thought for a moment, "We pay Brackenreid another visit to see if his kids have those German measles or not. And if they don't we'll go back to the house for his old lady," the constable sneered. "Remember, Charles what's to make a statement," he stated.

"Right. I'll meet you back at the station once I change into my uniform," Reese said as he dashed off. Dobbin's eyes narrowed as he looked back over his shoulder. He didn't like being turned away from a job he was sent to do by his former boss. He drew a deep breath through his nostrils and turned abruptly turned toward his flat, so that he too could put on his uniform.


	13. Chapter 13

Detective William Murdoch entered the courthouse, in search of the clerk that would hopefully allow him access to the records of Marcel Charles' trial. He stopped at the front desk, "I'd like to see the records clerk," he smiled.

"And you are?" the man behind the desk questioned.

"Oh. Sorry," Murdoch flashed his badge, "Detective William Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary," he stated.

"I see," the man said. He then looked toward the hall off to his right, "Three doors down and to the left," he said and went back to whatever he was doing. Murdoch twisted his lips as if he was going to ask the man what he was doing, but he decided not to. He gracefully dismissed himself and walked down the hall to the third door on the left.

Murdoch paused and looked around the hallway before he knocked.

"It's open," as voice within stated.

Murdoch grabbed the clear glass door knock and opened the door. The old man behind the desk looked up, "What can I do for you?" he asked.

"I'm hoping you can help me. I'm Detective William Murdoch," he again opened his suit coat to show his badge to the man, closing the door behind himself.

"So?" the old man asked.

"I'd like access to a court case involving Inspector Marcel Charles. About ten years ago," the Detective stated.

"He's the one that was recently released, wasn't he?" the old man question.

"Indeed, the one and the same," Murdoch smiled slightly.

"I see," the old man nodded, "He was certainly a slippery one, if I recall," the old clerk rose to his feet. "What ever you are after, I hope this will put him back behind bars," he added as he walked to the card file to locate the records.

"I hope so too," Murdoch stated as he looked around the little office. "May I ask why you said what you just said?"

The old man stopped pawing through the cards, and slowly turned to the Detective. He paused for a moment studying the young man before he felt confidence to speak. "Charles used my sister in sinister ways. So much so, she finally took her own life," he sighed. Murdoch swallowed and crossed himself for the poor soul lost, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Nancy was somewhat younger than me. I thought I did a good job protecting her," the old man sighed.

"I'm sure you did a fine job," Murdoch offered.

"Did I?" the old man asked.

Murdoch knew what he meant, "Let's find out what Marcel Charles is made of," he swept his right hand toward the card file.

"He's made of," The clerk stopped himself. "Yes, let's see," he smiled. "I'll send the records over to..."

"Oh, sorry. Police Station House No. 4," Murdoch smiled. "I seem to have gotten ahead of myself," he apologized.

"As long as you can put that piece of rubbish behind bars permanently, I'll do what I can for you Detective," the old clerk smiled and reached out with his right hand. Murdoch took is, and it was still a solid hand.

"I aim to find out the truth," Murdoch offered, "Mister?" he asked the man's man.

"Frank O'Farrell," he stated.

Murdoch stared at the man. His eyes narrowed, "Do you have a son named Darby?" he carefully asked.

"What's that son of a bitch done now?" O'Farrell snapped.

"Sir, you need to come down to Station House No 4.," Murdoch handed him his coat from the rack near the door. "See that someone sends those files before you leave," he opened the door and stepped into the hall.

O'Farrell wore a puzzled look on his face as he followed the Detective from his office and down the hall. "Detective, what is the about?" he asked as they stopped at the front desk. Murdoch turned and faced the old man, "It's about Darby," was all he was going to say in front of the man at the desk.

"Can you ask Mrs. Miller to send the records of the Marcel Charles case over to Police Station House No.4? Make them to the attention of Detective Murdoch," he motioned with his hand to the man standing next to him.

"Sure thing," the front desk clerk nodded. His eyes darted between the two men who were standing in front of him. "I'm going with the Detective now," O'Farrell spoke softly. Without another word, Murdoch and O'Farrell left the courthouse.

"Doctor Ogden?" Miss James looked up from her blood test, "It looks like not only was there cocaine in the blood, but heroine as well," she stated.

"Good heavens," Julia spoke. "It's a cocktail of narcotics," she stated. "Depending on the amounts, and when they were administered, Darby was bound to die anyway," she sighed. "I suppose that's good news for the Inspector, however," she added. "Keep looking to see if there are any other surprises. I'll go and inform Detective Murdoch," Ogden stated as he left the morgue.

Coincidentally Julia arrived just as William and Mr. O'Farrell, "Julia!" Murdoch wore a look of surprise. And before Doctor Ogden could respond he introduced Frank O'Farrell, "This is Mr. O'Farrell," he motioned toward the old man.

"Oh," Julia paused. She studied her husband's face, "I see," she smiled weakly.

I need to talk to him for a moment," Murdoch leaned close to the doctor. "He doesn't know about Darby, yet."

"Of course," Julia nodded, "I'll wait out here" she said as she walked over to Crabtree's desk in the bullpen. Julia watched her husband through the window, as he eased the man into a chair, closed the office door and began to inform him of what his son had been up to, and of his sudden demise. Of course the old man looked shock when William told him where he died, "I assume you sir, that we are currently working on the case," he tried to calm Mr. O'Farrell down.

"How in hard did this Inspector hit Darby?" O'Farrell questioned.

"I've know Inspector Brackenreid for a good number of years," William started, and although I don't endorse his method of rough interrogation, it sometimes is the only way that hardened men will talk. Unfortunately, it appears that there are other circumstances which may well be the cause of death," Murdoch stated.

"Other circumstances?" O'Farrell's eyes narrowed, "What in thunder does that mean?" he growled.

"Perhaps now, Doctor Ogden can join us," William said as he walked to the door, opening, "Doctor Ogden, could you join us please," he motioned.

Julia walked into the office and sat in the other chair as William indicated, "This is Doctor Ogden. She's our coroner and has been working on this case with me," Murdoch said as he sat down behind his desk. "You came to see me," William noted, as his eyes shifted to Julia.

"As a matter of fact, yes," she looked back and forth between the two men, "I'm sorry for your loss. I'm sure this must be quite the shock," she said out of curiosity.

"How did Darby die?" O'Farrell snapped.

Having not acknowledged what she had said, Julia jumped right in with her facts, "Did you know that Darby used narcotics?" Julia asked gruffly.

O'Farrell's eyes widened and shook his head no, "I have seen him in years, the miserable little.." he held his tongue. The old man's eyes slowly shifted to the doctor's, "I know that they are costly, so I can't see that the dimwit could afford such an expensive addition. Someone must have been giving them to him. Is that how he died?"

Julia slowly nodded, "I'm afraid so. So far we've identified cocaine and heroin in his blood and there might be more. We're still working on blood tests. Do you know where he might have gotten them from?" she asked with confidence.

"Are you joking? I hardly knew him these past years," O'Farrell chortled. "I knew he'd died a strange way. At least he wasn't in a gutter," he shook his head as if he'd won a bet.

"You didn't know your son well, did you?" William noted.

"Why should I have? He was never home when his mother or I needed him. He ran off when he was 15, after stealing some of his mother's jewellery and some money I had tucked away. He turned into a rotten child. He's had a few run-ins with the law before. We tried to help him. I wouldn't know him now if I fell over him," the old man grunted.

Julia's eyebrows lifted. "You do know he _IS_ dead," she had to make sure that the old man knew.

"I understand, Doctor. And I thank you for looking into his death," O'Farrell stood . There was sorrow of failure in his voice. "Let me know what to do with when you are finished with him and I'll see that he gets a decent burial," he sighed. "My own son attacks a police inspector and dies from some narcotic ingestion," he shook his head. "I scarcely know if his mother would even know his name now," he stated as he walked to the door. "Thank you both for being mindful," he said as he left the office.

Julia's eyebrows furrowed together, "This case just gets more strange as the days go on," she said as she stood.

"Indeed," Murdoch agreed. "Perhaps we should let the Inspector know of your findings, I'm sure that would make him feel more at ease," he smiled.

"Yes, indeed, William," Julia joined her husband as they walked out of the police station. "I do hope the Inspector is feeling better," she smiled.

"As do I, Julia," Murdoch looped his arm around his wife's and strolled along the street. Being a pleasant enough day, they decided to walk the few blocks.


	14. Chapter 14

Brackenreid remained on his cot, staring across at the undercover constable. Jackson fidgeted, as it was an uncomfortable assignment to be on for various reasons. Jackson reflected back at his first meeting with the Inspector, which ended poorly. "Detective Murdoch said you were hurt," he spoke softly across the cell.

Brackenreid's eyebrows narrowed, "You're suppose to be undercover," he hissed back. "And yes I am. Thanks for the concern," he held his side.

Jackson pursed his lips as he stood up and walked to the iron bars, "I hope the Detective solves this soon," he said to no one in particular.

"look, Jackson," Brackenreid slowly stood and walked across the holding cell where his new bunk-mate stood. "You are just here to keep an eye out," he smiled slightly.

"I know that Sir, but it still feels creepy," the constable sighed.

"Well, image how the bloody hell I feel," the Inspector snorted patting Jackson on the shoulder. "Indeed, I hope Murdoch is working on this, and quickly," he then sighed.

Constables Reese and Dobbin then appeared, "Who's your new cell-mate, Brackenreid?" Reese hissed through the bars. Jackson squared himself to the men, but spoke not a word. Even Brackenreid said nothing. He watched Reese unlock the iron bar door, knowing Jackson was there for him, "What do you what now?" he questioned.

"We need to have a word with you," Dobbin stated.

"Oh?" Brackenreid questioned cockily.

"Alone," Dobbin stated as he stepped through the now open door.

Brackenreid's eyes shifted to Jackson. The Constable waited, his hands slowly balling up into massive fists. Dobbin took another step toward the Inspector, "I said we need to talk to you," he leered. Reese was now inside the cell as well.

"Talk right now. I'm not going anywhere with the likes of you two," Brackenreid walked to his cot, his hands in his trouser pockets. It was then that Reese decided to clobber Jackson, who was slowly moving on in Dobbin, taking him out of action. Jackson yelped as he grabbed the side of his head, before he dropped to his knees. Brackenreid's eyes were wide in fear. Dobbin grabbed the inspector by the upper part of his vest and shirt, and pushed him toward the door.

"I'm not leaving this cell!" Brackenreid bellowed.

"Want to bet on that, Inspector?" Reese sneered as he twisted the Inspector's right arm around behind his back. "Let me go, you bastard," Brackenreid fought, but it was a loosing battle, as the two Constables dragged him down the hall and shoved him hard up against the wall.

"What the hell do you want with me?" the Inspector asked through his clenched teeth.

"We saw and old friend of yours," Reese side as he held his hand tightly around the Inspector's throat. Brackenreid had both his hands wrapped around the constable's forearm as he tried to struggle free. "Marcel says hello. And we tried to pay the Mrs a visit, but she wasn't home. We'd like to find her and the boys," Reese whispered. Brackenreid squirmed harder, "Leave my family be," he choked.

"He wants to escape," Reese looked over to Dobbin who held his night stick tightly in his right hand.

"Is that a fact?" Dobbin asked. "I really do hate when prisoners try to make a run for it," he smiled at Reese. "As do I," Reese let go of the Inspector. Brackenreid remained against the wall, holding his throat with this right hand. His eyes shifted between the two men, "I'm not going to play your damn game," he snarled.

"Have it your way," Reese shrugged. "You know Marcel wants you to suffer long and hard for putting him in prison, don't you?"

"I'm not surprised. The pile of rubbish said he'd seek revenge," Brackenreid glared at the constables.

"We'll be sure to tell him how you feel about him," Dobbin smiled before he whacked the Inspector with his baton. Brackenreid tried to fight the two men off, but they kept coming.

Constable Jackson was now on his feet, even though the whole room was spinning. He could see and hear the two men working the Inspector over. "HEY! Help down here! HELP! he shouted through the bars toward the open door that lead up stairs to the police station. By chance, Inspector Wallis was walking by and heard the plea for help. He motioned to two other constables, as he had no idea what was happening. The three men rushed down the stairs. Wallis stopped in his track, "What in blazes are you doing!? Stop immediately," he ordered.

Dobbin and Reese stood over Brackenreid who was now down on the floor trying to sit up. "He tried to make a run for it," Dobbin stated.

Wallis stepped closer to Brackenreid, "Is that so, Tom?"

"Yeah, sure," Brackenreid mumbled as he tried to wipe the blood from his eyebrow.

Wallis wasn't convinced at all by the Inspector's admission. Wallis looked up at the two constables, "Get him to his cot, now," he ordered as the two men scooped down to haul Brackenreid to his feet. The inspector groaned. "Be careful!" Wallis bellowed at the two men and followed them back to the cell where they place Brackenreid on the cot. "If I catch either one of you down here again, I will reprimand you severely," he snarled at Reese and Dobbin. "Now get the hell out of here, and don't think I won't look into this matter further," he ordered. Both constables backed away before they made their way back up the stairs.

"Care to talk about it?" Wallis asked Brackenreid, who merely rolled his aching head from side to side indicating that he was going to remain quiet on the matter. Wallis huffed and then turned to Jackson, "You were suppose to protect him," he stated.

"They jumped me before they took him out of the cell," Jackson said in self defence.

"They removed the Inspector from the cell?" Wallis asked.

"Yes, Sir," Jackson replied, holding his hand to the side of his head as he sat on his own cot.

"I'll send for a doctor," Wallis patted Jackson on the shoulder before he left the cell. He couldn't be bothered to lock the door.

William Murdoch and Julia Ogden had just arrived at the police station and were pleased that the blood tests were coming along and that at least two narcotics were in Darby O'Farrell's system at the time of his death. They openly chatted about it as they strolled through the police station, anxiously waiting to tell the Inspector. "Now all we need to do is identify if there were any more drugs used. Miss James is more than competent to do so," Julia smiled as they walked passed Constables Dobbin and Reese. "And then we need to find out where Darby got the narcotics," William stated.

"Let's finish with the blood work first," Julia suggested.

Reese and Dobbin exchanged looks having over heard the conversation about Darby O'Farrell, "We need to destroy the evidence," Dobbin whispered.

"Isn't that the doctor from the morgue?" Reese questioned.

"I think so," Dobbin's eyes narrowed.

"I guess we need to pay the morgue a visit, then," Reese nudged Dobbin and the two men left the police station.

William and Julia met Inspector Wallis at the top of the stairs. He looked dreadful. "Sir?" Murdoch looked at the man with concern.

"I'm glad you're both here, especially you, Doctor Ogden," Wallis sighed.

"What's happened?" William quickly asked.

"I'm afraid he's in a bad way. Two constables decided for whatever reason worked him over pretty good just now," the Inspector shook his head in dismay.

"What two?" Murdoch enquired.

"Dobbin and Reese," Wallis replied as he looked for them in the bull pen.

Murdoch's eyes narrowed. "Reese must have been one of the first assailants," he stated. "I remembered bumping into him the first time," he noted. He was trying to connect the dots. "Why would they do such a thing?" he asked himself as they quickly made their way down to the cells. Brackenreid had passed out.

"Oh my," Julia gasped at the sight, covering her open mouth with her right hand. Brackenreid's face was covered in blood, with it seeping from a deep cut over his right eye and a rivulet seeped from the corner of his mouth and one from his nose. The doctor sat carefully on the edge of the cot and assessed the Inspector's injuries.

Jackson walked over to look at his boss, "Holy," he muttered.

"Did you hear anything?" Murdoch asked the Constable.

Jackson winced as he thought, "I could have sworn that one of the men said the name Marcel," he shrugged. "They hit me pretty hard."

"Marcel?" Murdoch's eyes narrowed, "Julia, you stay with the Inspector, I need to get back to Station House No. 4 and look through some records. Those two Constables could be the link," he added.

"The Inspector needs more help than I can give him. He needs to be in hospital," Ogden stated.

"He'll 'enjoy' that," William said sarcastically as he quickly left for his police station.

Wallis drew a deep breath, "I'll call for an ambulance," he sharply nodded and followed Murdoch.


	15. Chapter 15

William Murdoch raced to his desk where the files from Marcel Charles' trial awaited. Constable Crabtree noted the look on his boss' face and decided to check in with him, "Sir?"

Murdoch didn't even looked up from the files, "I need to find information on two constables from Station House No. 7," he said as he leafed through a few pages.

"I can help Sir," Crabtree offered.

"Thank you George. We're looking for a Dobbin and a Reese," Murdoch stated.

"Why are we looking for our own, Sir?" George asked.

"I believe they are connected to Marcel Charles. And they just dusted up Inspector Brackenreid pretty good," William looked up from the file he held.

"The poor Inspector," Crabtree lamented. "He was in a bad way earlier," he shook his head.

"It's much worse. He's being taken to the hospital," Murdoch stated and went back to the file. "We need to tie Reese and Dobbin to Marcel, and Marcel to Darby," he looked up again from the file. He was thinking back to Station House No. 7 and the bull pen. He was, in his mind's eye looking for the two constables, but they weren't there. Rewind a bit further. His conversation with Julia about the blood samples. Murdoch dropped the folded he held in his hands to his desk. "We need to get to the morgue immediately!" he said as he briskly passed Crabtree. The Constable shrugged, "Certainly," as he hastily followed his boss.

Murdoch and Crabtree has gotten to the morgue within minutes, but unfortunately late. The place was a shambles and Miss James sat in a corner, weeping. William's mouth dropped open at the sight. George stood looking around in awe, "Sir. Who could have done this?" he asked as he moved toward Miss James and knelt down next to her.

"I wager that is was Constables Dobbin and Reese," the Detective replied as he surveyed the damage. William immediately walked to the phone and asked for Station House No. 7, hoping to catch Inspector Wallis and Julia before either left the building. The Detective watched as George assisted Miss James to a chair, "Come on," he said under his breath. "Yes! Inspector Wallis?" 

"Murdoch?" Wallis looked at his phone wondering why the Detective seemed so excited to speak to him.

"Yes. I need you and Doctor Ogden to come over to the morgue immediately," he spoke.

"Why? Is there trouble?" Wallis asked as he was the ambulance crew carry the unconscious Inspector Brackenreid out of the station, followed by Constable Jackson. Wallis waved to the doctor for her to join him. Her mouth dropped open as he was planning on going with the Inspector and Constable to the hospital. Slightly annoyed she motioned for the ambulance attendants to go on with out her, "I'll catch up soon," she smiled slightly as she watched the men leave the station. With a huff, she walked toward Inspector Wallis and saw something in his eyes she didn't like.

"There's been an incident," Murdoch informed the Inspector. "And I believe that two of your constables were involved," he added for mustard.

Wallis' jowl muscles tighten at the insinuation or even implication of any of his men. He glanced around the bull pen from his office and didn't see the two he figured, "Reese and Dobbin, I presume," he spoke quietly into his phone.

"I'm afraid so, Sir," the detective said.

"What is it, Inspector?" Julia stepped closer to Wallis.

"We must go, now," Wallis motioned. "Something has happened at the morgue," he indicated.

"Oh, no!" Ogden gasped. "I left Miss James on her own! Is the all right?" she took the Inspector by the arm.

"I don't know the details, Doctor. I was asked by your Detective to bring you to the morgue," was all Wallis would say. His mind was on the two constables, "I never trusted them," he muttered. "Two leftovers from Marcel's reign," he continued sputtering to himself as he gather his hat and marched to the door. Julia was right behind him.

William Murdoch walked over to where George Crabtree and Miss James were sitting. "Miss James? Are you all right?"

"I think so," a shaken Miss James answered. "They came in so quickly," she looked around the room. "I was busy with Darby O'Farrell's blood samples," James stated.

"It would appear they targeted those findings," Murdoch said as he walked to the workbench and studied the smashed viles and and blood splatter everywhere. Broken beakers and test tubes were scattered n the floor, making for quite the mess. "Where are your notes?" he had to ask.

"I hid them was soon as they started to pressure me into telling them what I was working on," James' eyes were filled with fear. "I knew they were going to hurt me, so I gave them another note book that was to do with an old autopsy," she stated.

"That was very good of you, Miss James! I might have to asked the Inspector to add you to our constabulary with actions like that," Murdoch tried to lighten the mood.

"How is Inspector Brackenreid?" Rebecca asked.

Murdoch looked over to his constable and then back at Miss James, "Not so good, I'm afraid," he sighed.

"But Doctor Ogden said he only had a few cracked ribs," James appreciated the Inspector how he had taken her under his wing as of late.

"I'm afraid things got a little worse for him today," Murdoch stated as he looked around. He could see the concern in the young woman's eyes. She swallowed, "I'm sorry to hear that," she looked down at the floor.

"I'm sure he will be all right in a few weeks," William tried to smile.

"I hope so," Miss James looked up at the detective. It was almost on cue that Inspector Wallis and Doctor Ogden arrived on sight. Julia gasped at the scene, covering her gaping open mouth with her hands. Slowly she walked into the room, "What happened?" she asked as she looked around.

"Doctor Ogden! I tried to stop them," Rebecca said quickly as she sidestepped George. "I wasn't very successful," she sighed as she looked around the room.

"The main thing is that you are all right," Julia stated as she surveyed the damage. "What on earth happened?" her eyes lifted to William.

"It would appear that Constables Reese and Dobbin were looking to bury the blood sample evidence you found on Darby O'Farrell," the Detective stated. "With quick wit, however, Miss James threw them a red herring," he smiled as he glanced over to the woman.

"They must be working for whom ever gave Darby the drugs," Julia stated.

"Exactly," William noted. "And now we need to find out who and then to prove it." Clearly his mind was on trying to put the pieces together. Slowly he looked over to his wife, "I need to let Mrs Brackenreid know about the Inspector. What hospital did they take him to?" he asked.

"They've taken the Inspector and Constable Jackson to the Toronto General Hospital," Julia answered as she began to sift through the debris of her work place.

"Very well," Murdoch nodded. "Miss James, if you are uninjured, Constable Crabtree and Inspector Wallis will continue with the search for these constables," he smiled slightly.

"You might like this," Rebecca stepped forward. "As I struggled with one of them, I grabbed at his collar," she opened her clenched hand to reveal a collar dog – a brass No. 7 in fact.

Murdoch carefully picked the small metal object up and showed it to Wallis, "We need to find Reese and Dobbin soon," he stated. The Detective's brown eyes lifted to Wallis' light blue eyes, "You can take this," he said with somewhat disappointment in the Inspector. After all those men worked for him.

"Now look, Murdoch," Wallis stepped forward," Those two constables were at Station House No. 7 long before I go there," he reasoned.

"Then perhaps it's time you knew your men," Murdoch curtly chastised the man. "I'm going to pay Marcel Charles another visit. And then I'll see Mrs Brackenreid," the Detective huffed as he turned sharply on his heels and left the morgue. George bit his lip, but he knew that his boss was right. He knew that Wallis should know and trust his men by now. Quickly the Constable went to work looking for finger marks.

Wallis stood a little numb, even he knew he should have known his men better rather than be complacent about it. He snapped himself out his thoughts, "Let's work together and gather the evidence we need," he ordered. "I want those two behind bars, as soon as possible."

Julia, Rebecca and George helped the Inspector gather evidence while William Murdoch went in search of Marcel Charles.


	16. Chapter 16

Before Murdoch set out to contact Margaret Brackenreid and Marcel Charles, he decided to stop in at the station house to scan through the court records for Reese and Dobbin. His growing suspicion had him thinking about what Inspector Brackenreid told him to do; his homework. Somewhere in the mass of records had to be the link to Marcel and the beatings that the two constables bestowed upon him.

The Detective picked up the file he had been previously viewing and scanned through looking for the two names, there was nothing to be found, so he went on to the next, and the next. In the tenth file, he found what he was hoping would be there. Finally a connection to the three men. Murdoch's jowl muscles were clenched as he hated to be duped by such a con as Marcel Charles. His eyes narrowed as he continued to read the record and it was enough of a connection to prove that the men in fact worked together, so it wasn't any coincidence or some strange event out of the blue for Inspector Brackenreid. Now he needed to find the connection between them and Darby O'Farrell.

Murdoch placed the file down and walked through the station. His next stop was to see Margaret Brackenreid; he knew that was not going to go over well. The only thing he was concerned about was the whereabouts of Constables Dobbin and Reese. The Detective stopped in the bullpen, "Henry, I need you and a few other men to look for Constable Dobbin and Constable Reese from Station House No. 7. They are wanted for the assault on Inspector Brackenreid," he stated. Higgins was quick to his feet, "Yes, Sir," the Constable nodded as he chose who he wanted to go with, as George was still at the morgue. Satisfied, that Henry was on the case, the left to find and speak with Margaret Brackenreid.

Detective Murdoch rode across town to the cottage where the Brackenreids were secretly staying. Margaret was busy in the kitchen when she heard the knock at the front door. She was hoping it was Thomas as she wiped her hands clean with a cloth as she walked to the front door. She took a peek through the curtain over the sidelight and was surprised to see the young Detective standing on the stoop, and not her husband. Murdoch was looking in the opposite direction, so it startled him slightly when Mrs. Brackenreid unlocked and opened the door. Murdoch immediately removed his hat, "Mrs. Brackenreid," he tried to smile.

Margaret noted the look on the Detective's face, "Come in," she said as she stepped aside.

Murdoch nodded and entered the cottage. He waited to Mrs. Brackenreid to close the door, "Perhaps we should sit down," he suggested.

"What's wrong, Detective Murdoch?" Margaret walked to the sitting room.

Murdoch drew a deep breath through his nose, "There's been another incident with regards to the Inspector," he started. "I'm sure he will be fine, but he was taken to the hospital last hour," he said hoping that he sounded reassuring yet cautiously optimistic in his diagnostics, having seen how badly beaten his boss was.

Margaret's eyes filled with fear as she plopped down into a large upholstered chair, "What happened this time? She looked up at the Detective.

"Two constables from Station House No. 7 roughed him up pretty good," Murdoch said as he lowered himself to a chair opposite Mrs. Brackenreid. He slowly rotated his hat in his hands nervously.

"Why? I thought he was only being held for questioning in the other matter," Margaret challenged the young Detective.

Feeling slightly embarrassed for not having all the answers, William's eyes dropped to his hat, "Indeed he was, but the Inspector wouldn't tell me what happened, just like before. I suspect again he feared for you and the boys," he paused. His eyes lifted to Margaret. "However, we do know who did it, and we're looking for them now. I need you to stay here and keep the doors and windows locked. And keep the boys inside," William pleaded.

"When can I see Thomas?" Margaret asked.

"Soon I hope," William swallowed. He knew this was hard on the Inspector's wife. She'd been through it before. "I hope we apprehend the two responsible very soon," he added for reassurance. Margaret slowly stood, "Does this have to do with Marcel Charles' release from prison?" she sharply asked.

"I hope to find out very soon," the Detective noted as too stood up and put his hat back on. "I will keep you posted," he added before he turned to the door.

"Catch them Detective. And throw them behind bars and be sure to lose the keys," Margaret almost ordered.

"I full intend to," William answered back before he let himself out. Once on the stoop he drew another deep breath and scanned the little street. All was clear, so he walked to his bicycle and began his journey to see Marcel Charles to get to the bottom of this whole mess with the Inspector.

As the Detective rode to the boarding house, he tried to piece together the puzzle. He thought it might be easier if he was in his office with the chalkboard so that he could clearly see the patterns, but the ride would have to suffice for the time being. He also fretted about what happened at the morgue and hoped that Dobbin and Reese didn't realize that Miss James had duped them with the old autopsy record she gave them.

Quickly William pulled his bicycle to a stop and hopped off, and once again he handed a man some money to watch over the bike. He made sure that he was in the door of the boarding house before he growled at the thought of paying to have his bicycle watched again. Murdoch's mood darkened as he was now seeking harsh answers to this whole case. Again he approached the owner who merely shrugged as he went on about his business.

Murdoch took the stairs two at a time to find Marcel Charles and hopeful shake the truth out of him. The Detective entered the long room ans noticed that Charles was not at his cot, "Has anyone seen Marcel Charles?" he asked as he forged his way through the cots. No one said a word. Murdoch's eyes narrowed and he quickly thought. He pulled the folded piece of paper with O'Farrell's photo on his and waved it about, "This is a search warrant," he stated boldly as he continued to walk toward Charles' cot. Most men in the room turned away so not to be involved with the police; others watched cautiously. This pleased the Detective as he defiantly walked to the end of the room and looked down at the cot.

Murdoch looked over his shoulder and the men that were watching him quickly turned away. With a huff, the Detective crouched down and looked around under the cot, and found the carpet bag. Carefully he pulled it from under the cot and opened it. Nothing outstanding stood out, until he began fishing through it. That's when he found the wrapped up syringe. Murdoch placed that on the bed. He then noticed the bulge under the mattress, and carefully searched for the cause; it was Marcel's coveted Bible.

William studied it for a second, before the pages fell open at Exodus 21:24 with newspaper clippings from the trial. "Eye for eye, tooth for tooth," he read the first few lines as he heart began to race and his eyes widened in fear for his boss. He now needed to find Marcel Charles, immediately.


	17. Chapter 17

Constables Reese and Dobbin caught up with Marcel Charles at their seedy little watering hole. Cautiously the two men entered and approached their former boss, "We need to talk," Reese said as he cast his eyes around the pub.

"Sit down and we'll talk now," Marcel," swept his open palm over the table to the chairs around it. He held a look on his face as if his men had done the deed.

"Sir, we're still no duty," he stated loud enough for other patrons to hear. Dobbin then leaned across the table, "We need to talk in private," he urged.

"I see," Charles' eyes darted between the men and he could see that something didn't go as planned, "You didn't kill the bastard, did you?" he hissed with his hands clenched tight at the thought.

"No Sir," Reese stated. "He's been sent to a hospital, though after our visit this morning," he said rather proudly.

"Then what the hell is it?" Charles growled as he quickly stood, glaring at the two constables.

Dobbin motioned for their boss to move over to the vacant corner stall, "It's about O'Farrell," he whispered to entice his former boss to join them in the corner booth. Both constables were keeping an eye out for anyone new to the pub as they move to the corner booth. Slowly Charles joined them. He sat down gruffly in a chair and stared at the two men, "What?"

"They were doing tests on O'Farrell's blood to see what drugs he was taking," Reese stated in an urgent low tone.

Marcel's eyes dropped to the table, "How? How could they figure that out?" he looked sharply at that two men. The constables exchanged looks. Reese shrugged. Dobbin looked back at his boss, "I guess they must know, but we got this, before we busted up the test tubes," he smiled handing the report to Charles. "I suggest you burn it," he nodded sharply; as almost a directive.

Marcel grabbed the notes from Dobbin and quickly leafed through it. There was a lot of medical mumbo-jumbo and he nodded, "Excellent work, men. I'll see that you are award handsomely for this," he smiled, as he looked up from the report. "I'll see it's destroyed promptly," he voice was firm.

"Very good, Sir," Reese as he motioned with a tick of his head to Dobbin that they should leave the establishment. "We'll be hard to reach for a few days, but I think you'll find everything is in good order," he touched his helmet brim as he backed away and the two constables exited the pub. Marcel wrung the document he held in his hands. He needed to destroy it and quickly.

George Crabtree felt he had gathered enough information from Rebecca James that he could continue working from Station House No. 4, and work through the files that the Detective had on his desk. The Constable strolled though the station and felt it awfully quite with so many men looking for Reese and Dobbin. Even with the lack of the Inspector's booming voice peeling for either Murdoch or himself, or his laughter; the place felt eerily empty, and somewhat sad to Crabtree. He felt slightly removed from the case, as he was working behind the scenes so-to-say and on the front line with his mates tracking down the perpetrators.

The Constable slowly walked to Murdoch's office and placed his helmet on the cluttered desk before he picked up the open file, which the Detective had been reading. Crabtree moved his lips as he read the file to himself and his eyes widened when he got to the part were Reese and Dobbin were also implicated in the corruption that was Marcel Charles' downfall, "Oh, my heavens," he muttered. "The Inspector was right," he added. The Constable now had the need to assist in finding the two men. Quickly he picked up his helmet and headed for the door, where he found Detective Murdoch just coming into the station. "It _was_ them," Crabtree merely stated.

"Indeed it was, George," the Detective said as he showed the Constable the Bible and a bundled up cloth, which held the syringe that he found in the possession of Marcel Charles. "I figure there's enough evidence to convict them all, this time," he stated as he walked to his office. Crabtree followed him. "The only challenge now is to find them," Murdoch said as he turned on his heels to face the Constable.

Crabtree was slightly puzzled by the comment, "Wasn't Marcel at his boarding house?" he asked as he placed the Bible and syringe down on his desk.

"No, George, he wasn't. How else do your think I got these?" Murdoch asked somewhat sarcastically. Crabtree frowned as he shrugged at the answer. "Don't forget the collar pin, Sir," he felt he redeemed himself.

"Right, George," the Detective smiled as he pulled the small brass number 7 from his coat pocket placing with the other two items on his desk. "Have you heard from any of the others?" he then questioned the Constable.

"No a word, Sir," Crabtree responded, which made Murdoch huff; the Detective pursed his lips in thought, "They will likely be lying pretty low and perhaps changed into civilian clothing. I'll ask Inspector Wallis for his assistance in the matter," he stated as he picked up the candle stick phone from his desk and dialled the switchboard, "Station House No. 7," he spoke into the cone while holding the earpiece to his ear.

Quickly the Detective was patched through to Station House No. 7, "I'd like to speak with Inspector Wallis, please," he waited again.

"Wallis here," the Inspector said as he picked up his phone.

"Sir, this is Detective Murdoch. I need your assistance in an urgent matter," he stated.

"What is it, Detective?"

"Reese and Dobbin were most certainly connected with Marcel Charles based on the court records, and it would appear they have gone into hiding after their attack at the morgue," Murdoch put it bluntly.

"I see," the Inspector looked out to the bullpen hoping that the two Constables would be there, but they weren't – clever bastards he thought. "If you need men, I can supply some," he added.

"I was hoping you'd say that," Murdoch smiled. "We also need to locate Marcel Charles," he added.

"Certainly Murdoch. So he was involved?" Wallis stated.

"We haven't proven that just yet, but we're working on it, Sir. It certainly would appear from my preliminary findings that he had indeed had his hand in on injuring Inspector Brackenreid," the Detective informed Wallis.

There was a noticeable pause on the other end of the phone, "How is this connected to Darby O'Farrell?" Wallis then asked.

"That we're also uncertain about at this time. My Constable will be getting fingermarks from an object for me," Murdoch glanced at George as he spoke, "and we need tests doing at the lab before I know for sure," he stated. Crabtree watched on with great interest.

"I see. Well, I'll have my men on the look out for these three of unsavoury bastards," Wallis stated firmly. "I want these men as badly as I do," he growled.

"Thank you, Sir. I'll keep you informed as we go along," Murdoch said as he heard the Inspector sign off. Murdoch looked at the receiver as he placed the phone back down on the desk and hung up. "Is Julia still with Miss James?" he turned to Crabtree.

"She was, but she said she was hoping to check in on the Inspector at the hospital," George noted.

"That's good. I need fingermarks from this," Murdoch handed the wrapped syringe to George, and have Miss James identify what was in it," he ordered the Constable.

"Yes, Sir. Right away!" Crabtree smiled and felt useful at last. Murdoch nodded, "Thank you, George. I think I'll pay the Inspector a visit as well," he smiled weakly.

"Send him my best," George looked up from the little bundle he held in his hands.

"I shall," Murdoch ticked his head in approval as he left for the hospital.


	18. Chapter 18

Inspector Brackenreid was sitting propped up in his bed and looking unamused about being in the hospital. He was eyeing Doctor Julia Ogden as she was talking to the doctor who had just examined the him, having felt there was too much poking and prodding, "The indignity of it all," Brackenreid growled as he then looked at his splinted fingers on his left hand. He tried to moved them and they hurt like hell, "Son of a bitch," he muttered to himself.

By now, Ogden had finished with the doctor and she strolled over to the Inspector's bed. "The doctor said that they are keeping you here for a few days for observation," she pointed out. Brackenreid rolled his eyes at the thought, "Oh yay," he scoffed. "How you you feel," she asked.

Brackenreid looked up; his right eye was all but swollen shut and sutures that closed the gash in his eyebrow. "You're joking, right?" he replied. He lifted his left hand up and touched his bottom lip, which was also swollen. Basically, parts of the Inspector's face were black, blue and yellow from the bruises.

Julia smiled, "We're all worried for you," she said as she placed her hand on the Inspector's shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze.

Brackenreid acknowledged the comment with a slight nod, "Appreciated," he sighed and returned his look back to his left hand. "There's not a place on my body that doesn't hurt," he then stated.

Julia frowned at the comment, "William is working hard on this case. So are the Constables," she assured the Inspector, which caused him to look up at her again. "He has a few leads," she smiled weakly.

"Do tell," Brackenreid requested.

"It's best to get it from William first hand," Julia replied. And as if on cue, Murdoch walked into the room. Both Brackenreid and Ogden looked at the Detective. Anxious for any news, Brackenreid spoke, "Doctor Ogden says you have a lead on this mess," he said.

William stepped closer, "How are you, Sir?" he asked as he removed his hat.

"I bloody well hurt everywhere. There. Now tell me about this new you have," Brackenreid growled.

William glance over to Julia and back at the Inspector. "The men that beat you are on the run, and we have just about every man at Station Houses No. 4 and 7 looking for them, as well as Marcel Charles," Murdoch reported.

Brackenreid slowly looked up at the Detective, "So that toerag was in on this," he hissed.

"It would appear so, I'm afraid," Murdoch looked apologetic.

Brackenreid frowned, "Go on."

"I found a syringe in amongst Charles' belongings. I've got George working on getting finger marks and he will take it to Miss James for further analysis. I'm hoping that the contents match that of what Julia and Miss James found in Darby's blood," Murdoch explained.

Brackenreid's eyes narrowed, "What was in his blood?" he looked up at the doctor.

"We found heroine and cocaine," Julia reported. "I'm sure there were other narcotics," she added. "Either way, there was enough in his blood system that any amount of excitement or agitation, could have killed him," she spoke.

Brackenreid looked at the two, "I didn't kill him?"

"Doesn't look like it, Sir," Murdoch smiled.

"O'Farrell couldn't possibly be able to buy the narcotics on his own, but," he stopped and looked at the Detective, "Why would Charles use O'Farrell to get to me?" the Inspector asked with a look of confusion on his face.

"Haven't figured that one out yet, Sir," the Detective sighed. "In the meantime, you need to get some rest," William smiled. "And George sends his best," he added he took Julia by the elbow to leave the room.

"Murdoch?" Brackenreid called after the young Detective.

"Yes?"

"When can I see Margaret?" the Inspector asked. There was a hint of loneliness in the Englishman's voice.

"Hopefully soon. I'd feel better once we catch the two constables," the Detective tried to be reassuring. Brackenreid slowly slumped back to the bed and said nothing. He understood the risks.

William and Julia walked down the stairs of the hospital, "I don't know, William He seems to be taking all too well, despite what he said," Ogden stated.

William stopped at the bottom of the stairs, "I know what the Inspector is capable of. We need to bring in those two constables and Marcel Charles before he's released," Murdoch stated. "This reminds me all too much of when the O'Sheas almost killed him," he glanced up the stairs.

"We need to help him," Julia sated wit worry in her voice.

"Yes. And the best way to do that is to do our jobs," William noted. "Go back to the morgue and help Miss James, I'll talk to George and get a sense of where we're at about Marcel Charles," Murdoch stated. Julia nodded and they quickly parted ways. Murdoch strolled to the nurse at the front desk, "Ma'am?"

The nurse looked up, "Yes?"

"I'm Detective Murdoch," William opened his suit coat to show her his badge.

"You're here about the Inspector? He's up the stairs and to the left," the nurse offered.

William held out his hands to make her stop. "I was just up to see him. But I need a favour," he smiled kindly.

"What is it, Detective? I'm a little busy here," the nurse seemed a little indignant after being caught inattentive.

"I would call is a personal favour if you would see that no one but the attending doctor's see the Inspector," he smiled.

"No visitors?" the nurse asked.

"None," William stated. "If there's anyone insisting to see him, please contact me," William stated and quickly wrote down his information.

"I see," the nurse said as she looked at the note. "I'll pass this along to the next one on shift," she said flatly.

"I appreciate it," William said as he touched the brim of his hat and quickly left the hospital.

"Constable Reese?" Jackson shouted though the door. "We need to talk," he stated as he rapped even harder on the door to the flat. Jackson shrugged and looked at Higgins, "I guess we'll go in the hard way," the Constable stated as he put his shoulder to the door with a solid thud. The door gave way and the two Constables from Station House No. 4 stood stating at the scantly clad constable.

"Doesn't a man have right to privacy?" Reese bellowed.

"Not when you are wanted for questioning in the attack of an Inspector," Higgins cheekily stated with his thumbs hooked over his belt.

Reese's eyes narrowed and he thought about making a run for it, but in his undergarments he wasn't likely to get far before he was stopped by some other copper for indecency. Reese scowled at the two Constables, and especially Higgins as he smiled while putting the handcuff on. "You've got the wrong man," Reese growled.

"We can sort that out at the station," Jackson stated as he hooked his hand around Reese.

"Can't I even dressed?" Reese hedged as he was pushed to the the door.

"I you should have thought of the consequences before you and your friend dusted up Inspector Brackenreid," Jackson stated. Reese shot him a dirty look. Jackson ticked his head, "Find him a blanket," he motioned. Higgins pulled a sheet off the bed and draped it over Reese's shoulders. "Happy now?" he asked. By now Reese was growling mad and only stared forward as the two Constables dragged him out into the hallway, "This would be a lot easier if you just co-operated," Jackson stated.

Again Reese shot him a look as he tried to pull free of Jackson's tight grip. Jackson's eyes narrowed at the man, "You are a rotten cop," he sneered in his face. "And you will pay for it."

Reese spat into Jackson's face causing Higgins' mouth to drop open. Slowly Jackson pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped the spit away. Without a word, he quickly jabbed Reese in the gut, doubling him over. "Get moving," Jackson ordered. Higgins tried to hide his smile as the two Constables led Reese out of the building and to the awaiting police patrol wagon. Now it was a matter of finding Dobbin and Charles.


	19. Chapter 19

Murdoch had just reached Station House No. 4 as Jackson and Higgins brought Reese in. He smiled at the men; happy that one of the tree wanted men had been found. He even found it somewhat humorous that he was only in his undergarments. Reese was getting more angered the closer he was moved to the door that led to the holding cells. Murdoch resisted saying anything and went on about his business.

George Crabtree was next through the door, "Oh, you are here, Sir," he smiled as he handed the Detective a clipboard, "The results of the finger marks on the syringe are here," he noted. "I've taken the syringe over to Miss James," he quickly noted.

Will took the clipboard and studied, "Very good, George," he smiled at the Constable. "With these and what I found at the boarding house, I'd say we have a solid case against Mister Charles and his men." Murdoch placed the clipboard down on his desk with the other evidence. "You can go now," he looked up at George.

"What about the other two," Crabtree looked quickly over his should having seen Jackson and Higgins with Reese. "We still need to find that slippery Dobbin fellow and Marcel," he looked back at his boss.

"There are others out looking for them. I can't have everyone out looking all at the same time. I'll need fresh eyes tomorrow," Murdoch reasoned.

"Yes Sir," George understood. "I'll see you in the morning, then," the Constable stated as he left the office.

"Good night, George," Murdoch called after his friend. Once the Constable had left, the Detective thought to stop in at the morgue to see how Miss James was doing with the syringe and hopefully what was left of its contents. The Detective walked through the door of the morgue to find Miss James hunched over some test tubes, while holding a dropper in her skilled hand. She glanced over her shoulder, nervously thinking it was the two constables, "Oh, it's you, Detective," she sighed with relief.

"Sorry to have startled you, Miss James," the Detective apologized as he removed his hat and held it in his hands, in front hos him.

"I'm just a little jumpy," James stated.

"I can well imagine. That was an awful scare you hand," William said as he moved over to the work bench. He studied she contents of the test tube from where he stood. "I hope you have some news for me," he then looked over to the young woman.

"I do!" James smiled. "The contents were a mixture of many things, but most importantly, here was certainly heroine in they syringe," Rebecca smiled broadly, knowing that it was what the Detective was hoping to hear. Murdoch also smiled and with a solid jubilant "Yes," he was pleased with the results.

"Very good Miss James. I suggest you take the rest of the night off. Tomorrow might prove to be a busy day as we further accumulate evidence," Murdoch urged.

"Thanks you, Detective. It's been quite the day," Rebecca lamented. "Some rest would be most welcomed," she added while she tidied up and put the report into the cabinet before she locked it. "I'll have Doctor Ogden verify my findings in the morning."

"Very well," Murdoch agreed. "I too, shall be going home for the evening," he stated with a slight smiled. "I'll walk you to your apartment," he offered. "With Constable Dobbin and Marcel Charles still on the lose I don't feel it right that you to walk home alone," he stated.

"Thank you, Detective," Miss James nodded as the two left the building, locking it behind them.

It was later in the evening when William Murdoch opened the door into their room at the hotel. Each day he did, the more he hoped one day that he and Julia would have their own home. "Good evening, William," Julia greeted her husband at the door.

William smiled and quickly pulled off his hat and suit coat, placing them on the rack just inside the door, before he gave Julia a kiss. "Something smell delicious," he then stated.

"I didn't have time to make anything, so I ordered some roast chicken," Julia said as she guided William to the table.

"That's perfect," he said holding he chair for Julia to take a seat before he took his own.

"It certainly was an interesting day," Julia said as she prepared to cut the succulent cooked chicken. William held up his plate as Julia placed a few hearty slices on his plate, "Yes, it certainly was," he stated. "I hope we can close this case tomorrow," he added as he dished out some vegetables onto both his and Julia's plate.

"With all the evidence you have, surely you can," Julia said as she placed put some chicken on her plate. She then passed a small basket of buns. "I wonder what the Inspector is having for dinner," she then commented.

"I'm not so sure he'd be up to eating just yet. Reese and Dobbin did quite a number on him," William sighed as he buttered his bun.

"I feel badly for him," Julia lamented.

"As well do I," William looked up at his wife.

"Maybe I can take Margaret around to see him tomorrow," Julia suggested.

William thought about the suggestion for a few seconds, "I think that would be very nice of you," he then smiled. "The Inspector did look awfully out of sorts when we left him," he said as he took a bite from the dinner roll. "And I know Mrs. Brackenreid is very worried about him," he paused from eating.

"Wonderful!" Julia chirped as she cut up her meat and began to eat. William was slightly amused by his wife. He ate a few more mouthfuls before he paused again, "Maybe you could take him a small flask of his favourite," he looked blankly at his wife thinking she'd have none of it.

Julia looked at William and then giggled, "What a brilliant idea," she smiled and continued eating. William shrugged slightly and still looked sheepish for suggesting such a thing, especially in a hospital, but he figured what the Inspector had just gone through, he deserved a good drink...or two. He then felt rather pleased with himself as he watched Julia eat, with an impish smile on her lips. He then dug into his own meal.

Several blocks away from the hotel, in a darkened alley, Marcel Charles set fire to the report that his Constables retrieved from the morgue, "Without this," he cackled, "they wont have any proof about that stupid lackey O'Farrell and the drugs," the laughed to himself. Little did he know, the proverbial noose was tightening around his neck as the hunt was on for the remaining constable and himself.

Charles stretched out his arms and hands toward the little fire, which was a welcome warmth against the cooling night. He ripped out several more pages and held them over the flame to ignite them before he dropped them into the the cast iron pot he was using to burn the papers in. The smoke was minimal so he was confident that he wasn't going to be bothered by anyone. And as soon as he was finished, he would head back to the boarding house, as if nothing was wrong.


	20. Chapter 20

Inspector Brackenreid was having a hard time trying to get comfortable for the evening; his head ached, his back, shoulders and ribs ached, his three broken fingers on hid left hand ached, but the deep bruise to his left hip bothered him the most. He cursed under his breath as he tried to re-position himself, to take some weight off the area, but that only transferred the pain elsewhere. "Bloody hell," he finally said aloud, which caught the attention of one of the hospital wards.

He was a burly fellow, dressed all in white, "Is there a problem, sir?" he asked.

Brackenreid looked up at the man from his bed, "I can't get comfortable," he grumbled as he continued to try and adjust to a position that cause the less pain.

The man assisted slightly and fluffed up a pillow, "Perhaps if you had something hot to eat, you might feel better," the ward said. "I'll have a nurse bring you some soup," he smiled and quickly walked away.

"Soup?" Brackenreid questioned, with this eyebrows knit together, then lifted. "Just as well," he muttered as he slowly poked at his teeth with his right index finger; they too felt loose from the beating. The Inspector flopped back down onto the bed and sighed, "Bloody hell," he stared at the white-painted tin ceiling of his room wondering just how long this stint of 'observation' would last. He longed for his own bed, food and family.

Across town, Marcel Charles quietly entered the boarding house and climbed the creaky stairs to his room. Most of the other men had already fallen asleep, except for the one man that was nudging the snoring man in the corner with his foot, "Shut up, will ya?" he finally barked before he gruffly rolled onto his side and pulled the blanket up over his head, hoping to muffle the snore. The other man only grunted and ceased snoring for a few minutes.

Charles wove his way through the cots, using the ambient light from the street lamp outside to get to the end of the room. He finally reached his cot and sat down. There was very little of the warmth that was accumulated in him from burning the report that remained; the cool night had rushed it away as he walk to the boarding house. He briskly rubbed his hands together and blew into them. The boarding house was not the warmest place to stay.

Charles quickly pulled his boots off and slid his feet and legs under the wool blanket, where he curled up to try and get warm. It was then, that he felt something different about his cot. Marcel slid his hand under the mattress and felt around for his Bible. It wasn't there, so he pulled the blanket back and climbed out of bed to feel around under the cot, in case the book had fallen through the slats and onto the floor.

Marcel searched the area with his hands in the darkness to no avail, there was nothing under the cot but his carpet bag. Marcel's eyes narrowed as he crawled back onto his cot. His immediate thought was that one of the other men in the room had taken it from him, for which he'd set right first thing in the morning. Charles remembered one fellow across the way stared at him, while he read the bible, or the newspaper articles in the book. He would be the first one to talk when he woke up. He was too tired to think anything more about it. Once again he pulled the blanket up over himself and drifted off into a peaceful sleep knowing that the report from the morgue was destroyed.

Constables Fowler and Downer from Station House No. 7 waited in the shadows of the trees, cast by the lamp on the street. They were watching for Constable Dobbin to return to his flat at the building across the street. "I'm certain that his room is the one on the third floor at the end, there," Fowler pointed to the brick building.

"How long do you think we have to wait?" Downer asked as he rubbed his upper arms with his hands trying to warm himself. He wished that he brought along his great coat, but didn't think the temperature was going to nose-dive in the middle of such a warm stretch of weather.

"I don't know," Downer shivered as he glanced to his partner. "Stop doing that! You're only making me colder," he sputtered.

"I can't help it," Fowler replied. "Can't we find a warmer place to watch from?" he then asked.

Downer shot him a looked, "What do you want to do? Wait in his room?" he curtly asked.

"That would be nice," Fowler smiled as he dreamed of the warmth inside the room.

"Well forget that," Downer glared at his partner and huffed. "We're not going near that room until Dobbin is inside," he snorted. Just then a a light went on in the room.

"How about now?" Fowler asked as Downer was still glaring at him. "No," Downer snapped.

"But there's a light on now," Fowler pointed toward the window, which caused Downer to turn and look at the room they'd been watching. "Alright, now we can go," he stated and began to cross the street. Fowler was right behind him.

The two Constables entered the apartment building and climbed the stairs to the third floor. The crept along the creaky hallway to reach the room at the end of the hall. Just as they approached the door, it opened and a plain-clothed Constable Dobbin stepped out into the hallway. He saw the two men and decided to play it cool, "Constable Fowler. Constable Downer. What brings you here?" Dobbin asked.

"We're here to arrest you," Downer smiled.

Dobbin laughed out loud, "Arrest me? For what?" he continued to laugh.

The two constables remained stone-faced, "You're wanted for beating up Inspector Brackenreid, and for raiding the morgue," Downer finally said.

Dobbin snorted and he tried to brush off the accusations, "I think you have the wrong man. I wouldn't do anything like that! I'm a copper," he chuckled as he tried to side-step the two men. Fowler grabbed Dobbin by the upper arm, "You can try and tell that to someone else. Our orders were to bring you in," he said tightening his grip. Dobbin's eyes went black, as he glared at the Constable. He tried to jerk his arm free, but that only made Fowler's hold tighter.

Downer took out his handcuffs and snapped them over Dobbin's wrists, "Move it," he ordered. Dobbin continued to struggle, so both Constables took an arm and forced him along the hall and down the stairs. Thankfully they were only a few blocks away from Station House No. 4 where Dobbin would spend the night with his friend Reese in a holding cell.

Once at the station, Dobbin was processed and sent to his cell. Downer and Fowler left the area, closing a heavy wooden door behind them. Reese was standing at the iron-bared door, grasping the bars with this hands, tightly. He had a blanket draped over his shoulders. Reese waited a few minutes before he spoke. "At least you got to dress," he snarled at his colleague.

"We'd better do some quick thinking," Dobbin said through the bars, "or we're going see a lot more time behind bars," he added.

"It was all Inspector Charles' idea," Reese shrugged. "Let him take the brunt of the blame," he snorted.

"But we're still in deep," Dobbin stated. "Somehow they know we were at the morgue."

Reese swore under his breath, "That woman must have a good eye to describe us," he reasoned. "I'd say that would be impossible. We were in and out of there pretty quickly," he added.

"There has to be some other connection," Dobbin stated. "And as I said, we'd better do some quick thinking," Dobbin stated as he sat down on the end of his cot.

Oddly enough, the soothing hot soup was enough to calm Inspector Brackenreid to the point that he too, could have a relatively restful night. With a heavy sigh, he drifted into a deep sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

It was the chirping birds outside the window that awoke Marcel from a sound slumber. His eyes flashed open and he immediately thought about the missing Bible. He quickly peeled off the blanket and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the cot to where his boots were and he promptly pulled them on before he stood up.

Other men were just beginning to stir, but not so for the man that Marcel thought had his Bible. Charles walked to the man's cot and stood over him for a few seconds. He glanced around the area to see if he could find his book but it was nowhere in sight. His eyes narrow in anger. Gruffly he swooped down and grabbed the sleeping man by his tattered jacket lapels, jerking him upwards, "Where's my Bible?" he bellowed into the man's face; the man's eyes were wide with fright as he squirmed on his cot as he tried to free himself. "I don't know what you're talking about!" the man gulped.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about! I've seen you watching me read my good book!" Marcel shook the man again trying to get him to talk. The man just shook his head no, "I really don't. Sure I watched you," he admitted.

"So where's my Bible?" Charles growled.

"Some guy in a suit came in here early yesterday," another man stated as he watched the ruckus from his cot across the room.

Marcel slowly looked at the man, "A man in a suit?"

The man nodded. He seemed to know what he was looking for. Can't say for sure he took anything though," he shrugged.

Marcel released the man his had his hands on, dropping him back to his cot. He sternly walked back to his cot and pulled his carpet bag out from underneath. Placing the bag up on his cot, Charles carefully moved through the contents, wary of the syringe he kept in the cloth, tucked down near the bottom. As he searched, he realized that the needle was also missing. He whipped his head around and glared at the man who told him of the other. "What did this man look like?" he growled.

The man shrugged, "I didn't pay too much notice. He came in and walked right to your cot," he stated.

"Did he wear a badge?" Marcel asked.

Again the man shrugged, "I've never seen him before. I only arrive yesterday myself," he said as he stood and tidied the blanket on his cot. "I hope you find your Bible. A man could be lost without the comfort of something he cherishes," he tried to smiled.

Marcel's eyes narrowed as he looked around the room. "A man in a suit," he said to himself. Detective William Murdoch, my guess," he sneered. Charles ran his right hand down over his face realizing that if Murdoch has his book, he was as good as dead and he had not fulfilled his dream of full retribution on Inspector Thomas Brackenreid. "I'll pay the bastard a visit in the hospital, then," he growled.

Detective Murdoch was at the Station House, bright and early, combing over the items on his desk. He felt he had an iron-clad case against Marcel Charles and his two Constables. But he felt that there was still something missing – that was until Constable George Crabtree entered his office, brushing his hand down his tunic.

"George?" Murdoch questioned.

The Constable looked up, "A dirty bird," he grumbled as he washed the mess off with a damp cloth. "But they say it's suppose to be a sign of good luck to come," he then smiled.

William's eyebrows arched at the comment, "Interesting," he puzzled over the login of bird droppings being good luck, but it fostered his idea. The Detective looked back at the Constable, "George, I'd like you and Henry to go to Reese's and Dobbin's flats and retrieve their uniforms," he stated.

"Their uniforms, Sir?" Crabtree questioned.

"Yes, George. Their uniforms," Murdoch said. "We're going to test them for blood," he then smiled.

George made the connection, "The Inspector's blood from the beating," he clicked his fingers.

"Right. Now off you go. I'll set up the UV Daylight in a Box machine," Murdoch shooed the Constable with a motion of his hands. "Yes, Sir," Crabtree said as he dashed off to find Constable Higgins.

Murdoch smiled to himself as he retrieved his equipment from from the storage closet in his office.

Doctor Ogden met Margaret Brackenreid at the entrance of the hospital. William had informed the Inspector's wife that the two constables had been apprehended and likely that much easier to travel within the city, for which she was grateful.

"Doctor Ogden," Margaret smiled.

"How are you doing, Margaret?" Julia asked.

"I'll be glad when this is all over and Thomas can come home. I'd like to go home myself," Margaret sighed. Clearly being away from her house and husband were taking their toll on her nerves.

"You'll feel better once you see the Inspector," Julia noted.

"How bad does he look?" Margaret asked.

Julia thought back to when the O'Sheas laid a good beating on him and left him for dead, "Not nearly as bad as the last time," she answered.

Margaret sighed. "Well I brought him a little something that should cheer him up," she patted her handbag while she looked around to see if anyone was watching. She quickly opened it and exposed a small flask and gave an impish smile.

Julia's mouth dropped open, "Oh my! It appears we were thinking the same thing," she laughed. "It was William's idea," she quickly added as she showed the inside of her hand bag to Mrs Brackenreid. Margaret giggled at the thought as Julia cupped her hand under the woman's elbow and led her up to the room where her husband was resting.

The Inspector was sitting up with his right arm wrapped tightly across his lower chest. His feet on the floor and he was hunched over slightly; he was clearly in pain having just come back from the loo; any movement in his ribs caused him to almost vomit from the grinding inside and just getting out of bed and walking were onerous.

Margaret and Julia stood in the doorway, "Thomas?" his wife spoke.

Brackenreid looked up, "Margaret!" he was clearly happy to see her and tried to straighten up, braving the searing pain in his side. Margaret raced to her husband's side and quickly sat down next to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, "Oh Thomas!"

"Careful, Margaret," Brackenreid squirmed as her affection.

"I've missed you, Thomas," Margaret cooed as she studied the Inspector's bruised face. "I've missed you too, Love," he replied. "But I hurt like hell," he noted.

"Oh my poor dear," Margaret pulled back and looked at Thomas, "I brought something for you," she mused.

"New ribs, I hope," Brackenreid snorted.

"Don't be silly. You know I can't do that," Margaret scoffed as she opened her hand bag, again looking around hoping that there were no hospital staff watching.

Thomas' eyes were fixed on his wife, "You didn't..." he wet his lips in anticipation.

"I did!" Margaret giggled. "Now, mind you, I'm only doing this to help make you happy and feel more at home," she then scolded. "Right," Brackenreid sighed. "Happy."

"William and I also have something for you," Julia smiled and stepped forward and handed the Inspector the flask wrapped in a handkerchief. "Much appreciated, Doctor," he smiled and took the object, and quickly stuffed it under his pillow, "I'll start with yours, dear," he glanced at his wife with a tinkle in his eyes. She seemed pleased, as she wrapped her arms around her husband.

"I'll leave you two to talk. I'll see what the doctors have to say," Julia smiled. She enjoyed the subtle affections that the Brackenreid's shared publicly. "Thank you Doctor," Brackenreid said as he watched the doctor leave, before he kissed his wife. "I've missed you," he smiled broadly.

"I've missed you too. So have the boys," Margaret stated. "Hopefully Doctor Ogden can find out when you can leave here," she tightened her arms around her husband's slightly.

"I look forward to going home," he smiled at his wife. Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone in the doorway. The man moved further into the room and closed the door behind him.

"Bloody hell! Marcel Charles!" Brackenreid's eyes were wide in fright.


	22. Chapter 22

Constables Crabtree and Higgins were promptly back at Station House No. 4 with the uniforms they were instructed to bring, "Will you look at this, Sir," George pointed out that Reese's uniform was missing the brass number 7 from the collar of his tunic.

"Well, that certainly puts Reese in the morgue at the time of the attack on Miss James," Murdoch stated flatly. "Now let's see if we can determine which one of these men was the one that dusted up the Inspector," the Detective said as he took Reese's tunic and placed it on the desk in front of the UV Light in a Box machine. "Get the lights," he motioned with flick of his left hand. As soon as the lights were out, Murdoch flipped the switch and the blue light shone across the dark blue surge, small and large splatters of blood could be seen around the cuffs. Murdoch check the trousers as well, and they too showed traces of blood. He did the same with Dobbin's uniform, which revealed more blood, "He must have been the one that did most of the beating," the Detective concluded.

"I'm sure the Inspector will be happy to know they will get what's coming to them," Crabtree stated.

"Now if we could just locate Marcel Charles," Murdoch lamented as he turned off the machine and walked to the light switch.

"It's not that the lads aren't working on it Sir. It seems that he is a very slippery fish," Crabtree stated.

"Well, I suggest that the two of you join in on reeling in the slippery fish," Murdoch urged. Both Constables took note and put on their helmets before they left the station.

Across town, Marcel held a captive audience of two as he slowly approached the Brackenreids, "Get the hell out of here," Thomas bellowed at Charles; there was very little the Inspector could do in his condition.

"You heard my husband," Margaret stood up.

"Shut up lady. I'm here to see him," Marcel pointed at the Inspector. Brackenreid swallowed hard as he saw the large syringe in Marcel's right hand.

Margaret was infuriated at Charles' comment and grabbed the closet thing she could; the white enamelled bed pan from under the night stand and with a ferocious fury she approached Marcel with it high over her head.

The Inspector watched on in awe, as he wife began beating Charles about the head and shoulders, relentlessly with the pan. The sound of him yelling at her to stop, was enough to draw the attention to two of the floor wards, who charged toward the closed door.

The two wards opened the door just as Marcel crumbled to the floor and the syringe scuttled across the floor toward the Inspector's bed. Margaret Brackenreid stood over him with the bed pan still clutched in her hands. Julia Ogden heard the ruckus from down the hall and came running. She stood with her mouth opened as her eyes surveyed the scene. Even Thomas couldn't believe what he had just witnessed, as he sat gobsmacked on the edge of his bed. Momentarily forgetting about his ribs and hip, as he stood up and slowly walked to his wife, "Margaret?"

Margaret slowly realized what happened, "Oh, Thomas I was so afraid for you!" she wrapped her arms around her husband, who did the same with her. "Everything is all right now," he spoke softly into her ear as they continued to hug; he could feel her shaking as shock began to set in.

The wards, pulled Charles to his feet, "What do you want us to do with him?" one of them asked.

"Call Police Station House No. 4 and ask for Detective William Murdoch. He'll know just what to do with him," the Inspector glared at Marcel while he spoke to the two men. Charles tried to wrestle free, but the two wards were big burly men and there was no chance he could get out of their grip. Marcel's eyes narrowed, "I'm not done with you yet," he sneered.

"Is that a treat? I _am_ the Police Inspector, you know," Brackenreid challenged. "Get this toe-rag out of my sight." The two wards removed the man from the room before they called Station House No. 4.

Julia moved into the room, "Margaret, are you all right?"

"Quite," Margaret spoke, even thought she looked visibly shaken by the event.

"Perhaps a cup of tea will help calm your nerves," Julia suggested.

"Bloody hell! I know what I'm having," the Inspector sputtered as he limped back to his bed to get one of the flasks of scotch. As he approached the bed, he noticed the large needle on the floor, "What do you suppose he had in mind," he looked back at his wife and Doctor Ogden.

"I'll take that to the morgue and we'll test what is in it," Julia said as he walked over and scooped up the syringe with a handkerchief. She studied the object, "Very interesting," she stated. "Now how about that cup of tea," she smiled at Margaret.

"You ladies go ahead," Brackenreid said as he slowly and painfully lowered himself back to the bed. To his relief one flask was within reach and he was most thankful for the contents. He watched Margaret and Julia leave the room, and knowing that Marcel Charles was finally caught, he felt a sense of calm wash over him; and with a swallow of scotch the liquid was leaving a warm trail inside as well. A slight smile formed on his face as he savoured the amber liquid before he lay back down with a sigh.

Murdoch had received the call from the hospital and quickly gather a few constables that were in the bullpen, they took the Police Patrol Wagon to pick up Marcel Charles. Murdoch was pleased that he'd finally been apprehended but not in the manner in which he was. Once Charles was loaded into the wagon and sent back to Station House No. 4 he made his way up to see his boss.

Brackenreid looked relaxed for the first time in a week, "Sir?" Murdoch said as he entered the hospital room, removing his hat as he approached the bed.

"Murdoch! Good to see you," Brackenreid looked over to the Detective.

"Are you all right? I mean, you weren't further harmed, were you?" Murdoch asked.

"I'm fine. And thanks to my lovely wife, I'm no worse for the wear," Brackenreid had a slight twinkle in his blue eyes. "It was one of the most amazing things I've ever seen the Missus do, aside from giving birth that is," he thought about John and Bobby.

"Julia could only tell ma about that she saw. Mrs. Brackenreid had already left for the boy to take them home," Murdoch was curious as to what had happened.

"It was stunning, actually," the Inspector took a sip from his flask. "She pounded on him with a bedpan of all things," he half laughed, but that hurt his side, which caused the Inspector to groan.

Murdoch winced at the sight, "Sir, might I suggest that you get some rest. Perhaps the hospital will release you in a few days," he urged his boss to relax.

"Thanks, Murdoch," Brackenreid corked the flask and stuffed it under his pillow. "Thanks for that by the way," he motioned. William smiled. "And Murdoch. Don't be too hasty to send Charles somewhere else. I'd like a word with him," the Inspector's tone turned cold.

William thought for a second and understood fully what his boss meant, "Certainly, Sir," a sharp smile was on his lips. "I'll see you later," he said before he turned to leave. Something down, deep inside of the Detective also wanted to see Marcel Charles, alone.


	23. Chapter 23

Several weeks had passed; Thomas was bored of being at home, "I think I'll go to the station today and check in with the lads," he noted out loud as he walked to the front door to gather his suit coat and hat.

"The doctor said you could go back next week," Margaret scolded him from the kitchen. She walked down the hallway and studied her husband.

"I won't do much. Promise," Brackenreid stated. "I just want to visit the lads, as I said," he flashed a smile and he gingerly put on his coat; trying not to show the pain that his ribs were still giving him.

"Fine," Margaret huffed. "But don't you come whimpering back to me, if you've gone and pulled something or hurt yourself further," she wagged her finger at her husband. Brackenreid grunted at the comment as he put on his black bowler hat. "I'll even take a cab to make you happy," the Inspector stated flatly.

"Just don't over do it," Margaret warned again.

"Yes dear," Thomas gave his wife a peck on the cheek before he left the house. It wasn't long before a handsome came along, which he quickly hailed and boarded. "Police Station House No. 4," he instructed the driver and they were off. It had been a long time since he'd spoke those words, and they felt good. A smile slightly curled his lips as they turned on to the street where the red brick station building was located.

"Here you go, sir," the driver brought the cab to a stop at the front stairs. It still hurt like hell to move, and Brackenreid grimaced as he stooped to get out of the coach, "Bloody hell," he muttered to himself. It was easier to get into the coach than to get out. Once onto the sidewalk, Brackenreid straightened his back and exhaled before he huffed. His face was red with pain, but he wasn't going to stop there. He plucked some coins from his vest pocket and paid the driver. With a tick of his head, he slowly walked up the stairs and entered Station House No. 4. His hip bothered him as he climbed the stairs, so he was thankful for his walking stick.

The officer at the front desk greeted the Inspector, but it wasn't until he got to the bullpen when a round of applause went up. Brackenreid's face was now red with embarrassment this time, "Thank you lads. Thank you. I'm sure you have more pressing matters to attend to," he tried to stop the constables as they continued to clap.

The commotion caught Detective Murdoch's attention and he lifted his head from what he was doing at his desk. He smiled at the sight of his boss. The Detective stood and walked to his door, "Welcome back, Inspector," he said.

"Thanks Murdoch," Brackenreid said as he entered his office. The Detective followed him. "I needed a change of scenery, if you know what I mean," the Inspector winked as he placed his bowler hat on the rack inside the door of his office. The comment caused William to smile, "I understand, Sir." Murdoch assisted his boss with his suit coat before the Inspector eased himself into his leather chair.

"I see you are still in some pain," Murdoch noted.

"Some pain, indeed," Brackenreid sighed. "Is that toe-rag Charles still here?" the Inspector quickly asked. Murdoch merely nodded a 'yes'. "Good. I'll have a word with him next week, once the doctor gives the the go-ahead resume my duties, although they will be "light", so he says," Brackenreid sounded disappointed.

"With all due respect, Sir, it's best that you follow what your doctor said. You did take quite a nasty beating," Murdoch urged. Brackenreid rolled his eyes, "Yes, yes, yes," the inspector huffed. "You sound like the Missus," he looked at the Detective.

"Well, Sir, we've all been concerned about you," William stated.

Brackenreid nodded, "Much appreciated," he sighed. Hoping to change the subject from his well-being, "Have you got any news?" he asked.

Murdoch's eyebrows arched upwards, "As a matter of fact, we do," he smiled impishly knowing his boss was hoping to get back into the thick of things. "We purposely withheld the contents of the syringe from you. We wanted to make sure that you we're well enough to take the news," the Detective began. Brackenreid leaned forward onto his desk, "Go on," his voice held an annoyed tone.

"Well, you see Sir," William began just as Julia Ogden entered the office.

"I heard that you've returned to work, Inspector," Ogden smiled broadly.

"Not quite. I'm only visiting," Brackenreid stated. "Your husband here, was just about to tell me about the syringe that Marcel Charles brought into my hospital room," his eyes were locked onto Murdoch.

"Oh," Julia seem to apologize for the interruption.

"Julia, it would be best if you told the Inspector what was in the syringe," William suggested. Brackenreid's shifted to the doctor.

"Certainly, William," Julia nodded.

"Have a seat, Doctor," the Inspector offered. Julia accepted and sat in one of the large leather chairs in front of the Inspector's large desk. "Now, what was in this syringe?" he was looking directly at Julia.

"Heroine," the doctor answered. "And the concentration and amount could have easily killed a horse," she then stated.

Brackenreid's eyes narrowed, "Charles was out for more than revenge," he snorted. "The dirty bastard was going to kill me," he looked up at the Detective.

"It would seem to be the case, Sir, based on all the other information we've gathered," Murdoch stated.

Brackenreid was fuming and his mind was racing for what to do. He looked up at the Detective, "Make sure you have dotted every 'i' and crossed every 't' when you pull your evidence together," Brackenreid said as he stared forward. "I want this bastard to spend the rest of his miserable life behind bars, and I hope they lose the bloody key," he stated sharply his eyes dropped to his desk in thought.

Murdoch nodded, "Certainly, Sir."

"Everything, Murdoch. From fingermarks to search warrants," the Inspector looked sharply up to the Detective.

"I will make sure every procedure has been followed properly," William stated.

"As will I," Julia added.

"Very well," Brackenreid leaned back into his chair. "Get on with it," he tried to smile.

"Yes, Sir," William said as he motioned to Julia to join him, which she did. The two walked over to Murdoch's office and Julia noted the look on her husband's face, What is it, William?"

Murdoch swallowed hard and glanced past his wife to the Inspector. Slowly his eyes came back to Julia. "I never got a search warrant for Marcel's room," he stated. "I obtained the Bible and the syringe that he used on O'Farrell without one," he looked for Julia for answers and support.

"Oh dear," Julia saw the graveness in the situation.

Murdoch blinked as he tried to think of a way out of the mess he suddenly found himself in.

"Surely someone you know could see you through this and perhaps get a back dated one," Julia suggested. William looked up at his wife; he wasn't sure to laugh or hug his wife for such brilliance. "I think I know just the person," he smiled. "Frank O'Farrell. Now whether he's willing to help me, begs to be the question," he looked his wife deep into her eyes.

"Surely he must," Julia tried to smiled.

"I guess we'll see," Murdoch said as he walked to the door of his office and plucked his hat off the rack. "I'll let you know," he tried to smile.

"Good luck, William," Julia stated as she watched her husband leave the station.


	24. Chapter 24

Murdoch was on his bicycle and quickly wove through the traffic to get to the court house so he could speak with Frank O'Farrell; he dreaded the thought of bending the law, but it had to be done, for the Inspector's sake.

The Detective practically hopped off is bike as it drifted to a stop near the front steps of the building. He took two steps at a time before he pulled the massive wooden door open. The clerk at the lobby desk looked up. "Yes?"

"Is Mr. O'Farrell in his office?" Murdoch asked.

"Down the hall," the clerk motioned with his pencil.

With a sharp nod, the Detective briskly walked along the hall to the door with O'Farrell's name painted on the frosted glass. Murdoch rapped gently on the wood section of the door. "It's open," the voice stated from inside the room.

Murdoch drew a deep breath as he reached for the doorknob, opening the door into the room. He tried to smile ad he sheepishly removed his hat; standing literally with hat in hand.

"Detective Murdoch," O'Farrell extended his hand to William.

"Sir," Murdoch smiled slightly as he shook O'Farrell's hand.

"What brings you here? More records?" Frank asked as he continued filling some folders away in a box on his desk.

"A little bit more than that, I'm afraid," Murdoch stepped forward. "I need a favour," he stated.

O'Farrell stopped what he was doing. He sensed something in the Detective's tone. O'Farrell peeled off his silver rimmed spectacles, "What's wrong, Detective?" he asked as he watched Murdoch while he walked to the door and closed it.

"There's no simple way around it," Murdoch lamented. "I was too hasty," he said looking at O'Farrell.

The older man walked back to his desk and took a seat in his chair. He studied the Detective, "Something's amiss," he noted. "It's got to do with Darby's death," he said as he studied the look on Murdoch's face. After a few seconds he motioned for William to sit in the chair opposite his desk, for which he did.

Murdoch stretched his neck in his stiff collar, "It has to do with Darby and Marcel Charles," he squeaked out.

"What is it, Detective?" O'Farrell leaned forward on his desk.

"I found the syringe that Marcel Charles used to inject your son with the narcotics that eventually killed him. I also found damning evidence that Mr. Charles had full intentions to harm, if not kill Inspector Brackenreid," his voice tailed off.

"But?" O'Farrell was quick to ask.

Murdoch clearly looked uncomfortable as he tried to formulate his question.

"Detective. Between you and me, I want Marcel Charles locked away. And when he is, I hope they lose the key to his cell," O'Farrell said in a low calculated tone. "Now, what is it that I can do for you?"

O'Farrell's comment seemed to make things just a little bit easier, "I didn't have a search warrant when I obtained the evidence against Marcel," he blurted out. O'Farrell sat back in his chair, "Oh. I see," he studied the man across from him.

William swallowed. His brown eyes were locked onto the older man across from him.

Inspector Brackenreid finished going through the few things on his desk, so he decided to check in again with his Detective. Slowly he pushed himself up from his chair, with his hip still causing him quite some discomfort. He made a face as he righted himself and limped to the door of his office. He noticed that Murdoch wasn't in his office across the way. "Crabtree. Where's Murdoch?" he question.

The Constable shrugged. "He left a while ago, and seemed to be in a bit of a hurry," George stated.

Brackenreid's eyes narrowed as he thought to himself. He flashed back to the conversation about the evidence against Marcel Charles. He then swallowed hard as he glared forward at nothing in particular, "Oh, Murdoch," he muttered under his breath, "don't let me down now," he blinked, wondering what the Detective was up to and why he rushed out of the station; perhaps it was an undotted 'i' or an uncrossed 't' that was missed. He turned back to his desk, "Scotch," was all he said as he limped back to his desk to get a drink trying not to let unknown facts cloud his thoughts.

George Crabtree witnessed the strange spectacle and shrugged to himself then quickly went back to work.

Frank O'Farrell was sitting back in his large leather chair, "This is quite unprecedented," he spoke sternly. "This will be the only time that I do this. And should word get out about how this came to be, you alone will answer to it. As much as I wish to see Marcel Charles behind bars for the rest of his useless life, I will not bend the rules any more," he warned the Detective.

"I fully understand and agree. But you have my word. I "got" that search warrant prior to my going to Marcel Charles' place of lodging," Murdoch stated firmly as he eyed the paper on O'Farrell's desk.

"Very good," O'Farrell was satisfied as he slid the back-dated warrant across his desk to the Detective.

"This, indeed, will put Charles behind bars, and likely his two constables as well," Murdoch picked up the piece of paper and carefully folded it before he slipped it into his breast pocket of his suit coat. He then extended his hand, "I might call on you as a witness against Marcel," he then stated.

"I'll do it for Nancy," O'Farrell extended his hand and the two men shook on it. Murdoch picked up his hat and placed it on his head. "I'll be in touch with you later," he smiled as he left the office. A sense of relief washed over him now that he had the search warrant. Now it was a matter of compiling all the information to present it to the Chief Constable to push the case forward and bring it before the court.

Murdoch hopped onto his bicycle and rode back to Station House No. 4. He hoped that his boss was still there. The Detective arrived at the police station in what he felt like was record time. He quickly parked his bike and entered the building, swiftly walking to his office, to add the search warrant to the file. He was sure to place it in order. Murdoch looked up to see his boss standing in the doorway to his office, "Where'd you get to Murdoch?" he asked suspiciously.

Murdoch straighten himself and faced his boss, "Just finishing up with some minor details before I present this to the Chief Constable," he motioned with his had over the box on his desk, which contained the evidence against Marcel Charles and his two men.

Brackenreid knew there was more to the story, but he chose to leave it alone, "Very good," he said. "And just what have you got on that sot?" he asked as he moved closer to the desk.

"Are you sure you really want to know?" Murdoch question.

"That bad, is it?" Brackenreid stopped short of the desk.

"You might find it rather upsetting and in your current condition," Murdoch's voice trailed off as he studied his boss' face. "I'll go over it next week when you return full time," he swallowed.

"I see," the Inspector grunted. "I'll look forward to that, then," Brackenreid turned to leave. "And Murdoch," he stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"Yes, Sir?" William questioned.

"Don't hide anything from me," Brackenreid meant the evidence, but to Murdoch, it didn't feel that way with the back-dated search warrant. "Certainly not, Sir," Murdoch smiled. "Very well, then," the Inspector seemed happy with the Detective's response and continued on his way. Murdoch released a long breath as he watched his boss cross through the bullpen to his own office.


	25. Chapter 25

It was a bright and warm morning as the Inspector strolled to Station House No. 4. Naturally his mind cast back to the day that Darby O'Farrell attacked him, so he kept his trusty walking stick clutched tightly in his right hand. Thankfully there was no such attack on this day; in fact it was most unusually uneventful. Brackenreid shrugged it off as he stopped at the steps of the police station. He sighed a light, but then with a slight smile on his face, he knew it was time to get back to work.

The Inspector walked up the stairs and was greeted with a warm "hoorah" as the Constables and Detective applauded for his full time return to work. The Englishman's face flushed with embarrassment, "Thank you men," he acknowledged as he walked toward his office. Several men patted him on the shoulder as he moved past them. Murdoch and Crabtree were nearest the office entrance; both men smiling. Brackenreid stopped in front of them, "Let's get to work," he winked with a slight tick of his head before he entered his office. Both Murdoch and Crabtree knew that the Inspector was indeed thankful for their show of hospitality.

Crabtree went to his desk, while Murdoch followed his boss into his office, "It's good to have you back, Sir," the Detective smiled.

"It's good to be back, Murdoch! I love my family, but I've had enough pampering for quite some time," Brackenreid smiled as he place his hat and walking stick on the rack just inside his office door, then gingerly removed his suit coat; clearly he was still in some discomfort with his injuries. The inspector then slowly lowered himself into his chair, "Where are we at with this Marcel Charles case?" he was eager to lean what was happening.

Murdoch moved closer to the Inspector's desk, "First, I'd like to apologize in not believing what you said about Marcel Charles, and blindly took his words as a changed man," the Detective stated.

"That's water under the bridge Murdoch. I want to know what you have on that toe-rag that will put him behind bars for the rest of his miserable life," Brackenreid stated as he leaned toward his desk, placing his forearms on his blotter, waiting.

"Well, thank you for your understanding," Murdoch said. "I'm sure the evidence will be sufficient to see him locked away for life," the Detective noted. "The most damning is the Bible containing newspaper articles about his trial and your involvement in that case. And the syringe that he brought into your hospital room."

Brackenreid sat numbly looking at the Detective, "He planned to kill me, didn't he?" he slowly asked.

"I believe so, Sir," Murdoch spoke softly.

Brackenreid stood and walked to his window. He slid his hands into his trouser pockets as he peered through the blinds, "I hope he gets what he so richly deserves," he growled. He then turned to the Detective, "Is he still here?"

Murdoch nodded sharply.

"Good. I want to see that little bastard," the Inspector turned on his heels.

Murdoch swallowed, for he knew why the Inspector wanted to see Charles. He couldn't help but want to join in, but he had to show constraint, "Just be careful Sir. You wouldn't want to be charged with police brutality," he warned.

"I'll only hit the little bastard once," Brackenreid growled. "Remember, my doctor said I was to be on "light duty" for the remainder of the month," the Inspector snorted. The comment made Murdoch smirk.

"Let's get this over with," Murdoch suggested.

"Indeed," Brackenreid looked as feisty as ever; his face saying it all. The two men walked down to the holding cells. Marcel Charles was quick on his feet, "I want out of here," he sneered through the bars.

"Fat chance on that, Sunshine," Brackenreid laughed.

"I didn't do anything wrong," Charles barked back. "You've got it all wrong. It was Dobbin and Reese that put me up to it," he tried to convince the two men otherwise.

"Open the door, Murdoch," Brackenreid ordered, and Murdoch did. He held the iron bar door open for his boss, and reminded him, of just one hit, "Just one, Sir," he stated firmly. Brackenreid's jowl muscles tightened as he sternly walked into the cell; his fists balled up tightly.

Charles backed away, "You can't do this," his voice crackled.

"Want to bet on that?" the Inspector firmly stated as he moved even closer to Charles. And with a quick solid gab, Brackenreid landed a solid punch to Marcel's gut, doubling him over. Charles groaned as he slowly dropped to his knees with his arms wrapped over his stomach.

"Sir," Murdoch warned. Brackenreid was breathing heavily through his nostrils. "You're lucky that the Detective is here Charles, or you'd have gotten more," he glared at the man on the cell floor as he slowly turned and face Murdoch, "Hurry up and get that scum out of here before I'm tempted to finish him off," the Inspector firmly said as he briskly walked past the Detective heading back to his office. He didn't want to admit that his actions probably hurt just as much as Marcel gut, as his ribs had still not fully healed.

Murdoch closed the iron bard door and locked it. "Your trial will start the day after tomorrow," he said flatly as he too walked away, leaving the prisoner on the floor. The Detective rejoined his boss in the bullpen, "Sir?" he noted the look on Brackenreid's face.

"I just pulled something, that's all," the Inspector said. "I have to say, despite it," he noted his side, "That felt bloody good!" he almost laughed.

"I'm sure it did," Murdoch said. He hated when his boss beat up a suspect or prisoner, but no one deserved more than Marcel Charles.

"In fact, it was almost as good as the licking my Margaret gave him with the bloody bed pan!" Brackenreid quipped with pride.

"That certainly would have been a sight to behold," Murdoch smirked. "I kind of wished I had seen it with my won eyes."

"It was brilliant," the Inspector smiled as he walked to his desk. "Absolutely brilliant," he stated as he sat at his desk with a satisfied look on his face.

The Judge rapped his gavel down hard on the block of oak on the bench, "Order!" he shouted as the verbal confrontation between Reese and Marcel escalated. Two Constables intervened and shoved the men back down in their seats. The court was hoping to deal with all three men at the same time, as they were all in on want became known as the "Brackenreid Incident", together. As the room settled, Brackenreid nervously looked over to the Detective and his wife; they both glanced back, Murdoch's eyebrows lifted at the spectacle and was thankful that they were sitting in the gallery above the main courtroom floor. "Bloody hell," Brackenreid shuttered. Margaret tugged at his shoulder at his exploitative comment. He chose to ignore it for now.

"These men clearly no longer trust each other," Murdoch whispered to his boss.

"I just want this over with," Brackenreid whispered back.

"I think your testimony was solid," the Detective said under his hushed breath. "I watched the faces of the jury. This out outburst is Charles' attempt to try to have the sentence reduced by spreading the blame," he pointed out. "And the same with your account, Mrs. Brackenreid," he added.

"Miss James and Doctor Ogden also had some good stuff," Brackenreid pointed out.

"I suppose we now just wait," Julia suggested.

"I suppose," Brackenreid sighed. "I hope this ends soon."

"I'm sure it won't be long, Sir," Murdoch offered his support. Brackenreid couldn't take his eyes off Marcel Charles. "I hope you're right me ol' mucker," he said half laughing before he swallowed as he looked down at the room below.


	26. Chapter 26

"The Inspector's testimony alone should see this man locked away for life," one of the jurymen firmly stated as he poked his index finger onto the large table top.

"How can we be sure that it wasn't Constable Reese that was the mastermind? Or that other constable?" another asked.

"Valid question," stated one man. "After all, they would have had ten years to plan, while waiting for Charles to be released," he added. This caused a rather lively discussion in the room where the men where gathered to go over the evidence and to come up with a conviction to all three men; Reese, Dobbin and Charles.

"Don't forget what Charles said after his last appearance in court," a tall man at the back of the room spoke. "He said he would seek revenge on Inspector Brackenreid when he got out. It was too bad that Detective Murdoch believed Mr. Charles changed when they first met a few weeks ago. Clearly a leopard can not change its spots," he snorted as if he would have known that Marcel was lying.

"There's no doubt in my mind that the two Constables are guilty of the attacks on the Inspector, but I doubt that they acted alone, otherwise they could have attacked him long before Marcel Charles was released from prison. And don't forget the Bible with the newspaper clippings. Clearly they were working with Charles, even though he was in jail," a stout man stated. Again the comment created a round-table discussion.

"Don't forget what the constables did in the morgue and Miss...Miss," the older gentleman was trying to remember the name. "James," the man beside him offered. "Right," he clicked his fingers, "Miss James," he smiled.

"She was brave to have pulled off that document switch," the man at the back of the room stated. Everyone nodded. "Plus there was Constable Reeses' station house pin found at the scene," someone added.

"My mind rests on the attempt again on the Inspector's life while he was in the hospital. He's a lucky man to have such a brave wife," a meek man over by the window spoke. "Even with Doctor Ogden's testimony of what was in the syringe...well that just makes me shudder," he added. "I know what you mean!" the man next to him exclaimed.

"What about that Darby O'Farrell fellow," one of the jurors asked. "He died at the hands of the Inspector," he stated.

"Doctor Ogden proved that it was the amount of narcotics in O'Farrell that led to his death," another man answered. "Weren't you playing attention?" he then snapped. "And," he continued, "O'Farrell was also in the hands of Marcel Charles. The Detective found that syringe Charles' carpet bag. It's crystal clear that Charles had this all planned out, so can we just get on with this?" Another murmur swirled through the room. The men were getting tired of talking about the case, plus the windows of the room couldn't open very wide, making the jury-room rather unbearable.

"So, it would seem to be, that we're all in agreement that they are all guilty," the man at the head of the table spoke. Everyone nodded again. "Excellent. It will now be up to the Judge to hand down the sentence," he noted. "And I hope they are lengthy." The man stood and walked to the door, opening it. Outside were two uniformed Constables, "We have a verdict," the man announced.

"I'll get the Judge," the tallest of the two constables said as he briskly walked down the hall of the courthouse, to the Judge's chamber. The constable stopped at the door and rapped on it with his knuckles.

"Enter," the voice came from inside.

The constable pocked his head through the opening, "The jury has a verdict, Sir," the policeman stated.

"That didn't seem to take very long," the old Judge mused to himself as he adjusted his black robe.

"Bloody hell," Thomas Brackenreid muttered. "What's taking them so long?" he asked no one in particular.

"There's a lot of evidence to go through, Sir. I'm sure they will come to a verdict very soon," Murdoch spoke calmly, noting that his boss looked rather anxious about the whole affair. "I hope you're right, Murdoch. I can't take this much longer," the Inspector replied as he began to paced along the sidewalk outside of the courthouse.

Julia, Murdoch and Margaret all exchanged glances. "This has been terribly hard on Thomas," Margaret spoke as she watched her husband.

"I can well imagine," Julia spoke. "You've been his rock," she smiled kindly.

"Do you think so?" Margaret asked. Julia nodded, "I most certainly do," she smiled again. Margaret flushed slightly at the compliment. "He's a good man," Margaret stated. "Yes he is," Julia replied. "I pray that the jurors give those men the sentences that they deserve and what Thomas is hoping for," Margaret added with concern in her voice.

"With all that evidence, how could they not?" William asked. "The question is how long will each of them receive," he added. And as if on cue, a constable stuck his head out of the courthouse front doors, "The trial is commencing," he announced as he held the door open for those where had taken a break out in the fresh air.

Brackenreid's eyebrows lifted in surprise and delight as he and his wife entered the courthouse and found their chairs in the gallery above. No sooner were they seated, when the bailiff entered the courtroom, "All rise," he announced loud and clear. The room was silent other than the odd cough and sound of the wooden chairs on the hardwood floor.

The jury entered the room next entering the jury box, each taking their place, followed by the Judge. "Please be seated," the bailiff again stated. And again the same rumbling sounds filled the chamber before everyone took their places.

The old Judge looked around the room, before his eyes settled on the foreman of the jury, "Foreman. Please stand," the asked of the tall man, and he did. "I understand you have come to an agreement on a verdict," he said. The man nodded. "Please present your verdict to the court," the Judge requested.

The foreman held out the piece of paper and the bailiff took it, handing it to the Judge. "What is your verdict?" he then asked of the foreman.

Marcel Charles' eyes were practically boring holes through the man's skull.

"Guilty, your Honour on all cases," the foreman said loud and clear.

Brackenreid nudged Murdoch, "Look at Charles squirm," he said as he starred down at Marcel who was now on his feet. "That's wrong! These two me up to it!" he shouted at the jury and Judge while pointing at Dobbin and Reese.

"Order! Order in the court," the bailiff firmly stated, to no avail. Now the Judge was in on trying to control the order, "Order in this court, or I will have you removed without you hearing your sentence," the Judge said sternly as two constables attempted to hold Marcel, keeping him away from Dobbin and Reese.

"We told you he was deranged," Dobbin half laughed.

"Order!" the Judge yelled again. By now the whole room was a buzz due to the indecent and for the second time the Judge pounded down his gavel down on the block on his bench, "Order!" finally the room settled. With a visible huff, Marcel took his seat at the table next to his defence attorney.

"Now," the Judge firmly began, "This has been an interesting and complicated case. Give so, I have come up with various scenarios based on what the verdict might be. However, this," he waved the paper in the air, "has guided me to the only possible conclusion. Joshua Dobbin and Brian Reese, will you please stand."

Slowly the two constable stood, glancing back and forth at each other. Dobbin audibly swallowed.

"Your involvement in this case is very disturbing for two men who were trained and hired as Toronto police officers. Your lack of respect for your peers is shocking. You will both be sentenced to five years in prison," the Judge said. Both men stood numb. "You will be stripped of your jobs, never to be employed in the Toronto constabulary. To ensure this, you will be sent to Australia to serve your sentences. You will be placed on a train at 11:00 am tomorrow morning. Be seated," the Judge stated as he rapped his gavel down. Both men sat down, starring forward.

"Now, Marcel Charles. Stand before the court," the Judge ordered. "You have made a laughing stock out of the penal system, with your blatant lie of becoming a changed man under the system's willingness to help those who wish to truly change. We will now have to study cases much closer to assure another one of you doesn't get through and back into society," the Judge scolded. Marcel's jowl muscles flexed at the words. "You are sentenced to twenty-five years in prison, and not the Don Jail. You will board an east-bound train and spend your next twenty-five years in the Kingston Penitentiary," the Judge hammered down his gavel. "Thank you jurors for your services. Removed the prisoners. This court is adjourned," the Judge wrapped his gavel down.

Brackenreid sat back in his chair; a look of relief washed over his face, "With any luck that toe-rag will died before he's released again," he sighed.

Murdoch smiled, "This is a cause for celebration," he nudge nudged his boss.

"Damn right, Murdoch!" Brackenreid smiled broadly and looked at his wife, "Something special," he noted as they cleared the gallery and began to leave the courthouse.

"Not those horrible chicken wings!" Margaret stated, as he watched her husband.

"But, Margaret," the Inspector tried to plead his case, but to no avail. William and Julia found it rather amusing. "What then?" Brackenreid sighed as they reached the sidewalk in front of the courthouse.

"The ladies have been talking about a new restaurant," Margaret started, Thomas rolled his eyes, "it's Italian," she added.

"Italian?" Brackenreid questioned.

"Is that the one on Adeline?" Julia questioned. "I've heard it's awfully good," she smiled. Both Murdoch and Brackenreid exchanged looked. "It appears, me ol' mucker, we're going to an Italian restaurant," he shrugged. Murdoch didn't know what to say as he watched the two women walk away with the Inspector tagging along behind. "I really was hoping to have chicken wings," he muttered, which caused Murdoch to laugh as he too followed behind.

The End.


End file.
